


Can't Escape the Magnetic Side

by Hllangel



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 59,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hllangel/pseuds/Hllangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You could audition this year, you know." There's a definite smirk in Gemma's voice, and Harry knows exactly what she looks like when she does that. She's the smarter older sister, and never lets him forget it, after all.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Five years ago Harry Styles made a deal with his mum: he could audition for X Factor, but if it didn't work out he'd finish school and get a degree. </p><p>Now, Harry is 21 and finishing up his degree in law when rumors start flying that his celebrity crush is about to be a judge on the X Factor. Maybe it's time he tries again. (Or, the current year X Factor AU where Harry rediscovers how much he loves to perform, gets kicked off, and then has to figure out what he's doing next. With Nick's help, of course.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this as a last minute NaNo project because we've needed this AU since Nick was announced on X Factor. The first NaNo draft was terrible but had a gem of an idea that I've been working on for four months. Many many thanks to Fiarra, who held my hand and looked over my shoulder through the whole thing. 
> 
> This fic would be much worse without the fantastic (and speedy because sometimes even deadlines can't get me to write) beta from Junkshopdisco and Loverave. <3
> 
> Amazing mix from Hostagesfic can be found [here](https://play.spotify.com/user/hostagesfic/playlist/0kgEWJXHmyQmwjuPS8mk7w). They have also been incredibly patient with me as I sent them outline after outline and no finished fic. Be sure to give them some love as well.
> 
> This is a work of fiction based on the lives and likenesses of real people. If you are one of them and you're reading this, please turn around. 
> 
> See end notes for some content warnings re: Simon Cowell, tabloid culture and attempted bearding

Harry has a rule when he studies: no phones. 

Usually, this means that he keeps his phone in his back pocket, so that he's sitting on it when he's trying to concentrate on the Rule Against Perpetuities. The problem with this system is that he feels the vibration of every notification and it's distracting unless he's more distracted by the music he listens to. His friends have told him he has a really annoying habit of accidentally setting legal principles to music whilst in the middle of the library. The librarians have complained too. 

Today, his phone starts buzzing in his back pocket about five minutes before his self-scheduled break for tea, and since he's at the end of his outline for the day anyway, it's not such a big deal if he looks now. 

There's a bunch of texts, but the top one is from his sister. _I think you picked the wrong year!,_ and a link to The Sun. Harry frowns and clicks on the link, biting his lip and wondering what she's talking about. It's clear as soon as he sees the headline. 

> _Louis Walsh tips Nick Grimshaw as his replacement for X Factor_
> 
> Harry's whole face turns red as he reads the top paragraph. 
> 
> _"It's Grim news for Louis Walsh -- in an EXCLUSIVE chat he told us he may not be returning to the X Factor judging panel. But will SIMON's shake up be in the nick of time to arrest the ratings slide?_
> 
> _LOUIS, 63, might have overseen Westlife's rise to fame but he fears that's not enough to keep him off the chopping block. With X Factor alum GEORGE Shelley in the Jungle, Cowell will be looking elsewhere and Walsh hinted maybe even to their rival, the BBC."_

Harry stops reading and puts down his phone. He can't think about this. It was five years ago and he didn't make it, and now he's about to finish his degree like he'd promised his mum. He barely even thinks about it anymore. 

Except it creeps in sometimes, like when he's up on stage at an open mic night, or out at karaoke with his friends. He knows he's got a good voice and he can mostly get the room to watch him fall all over himself as he tries to have fun with the mic stand, and even if they're just laughing at him, they're watching. Sometimes when he's about to drop off to sleep he wonders what it would have been like if he'd gone through back when he was sixteen. Moving into the house, competing for an packed-in, noisy audience each week. Maybe he'd have got through to the end and nabbed a record deal. Been whisked away to America, to film videos and perform live. In the rarest of dreams he wonders what it would be like to be world-famous. People screaming his name, asking for pictures. Private planes, world-class hotels, traveling everywhere he can just because he wants to. He doesn't need a reason, he's famous; he's rich. 

Of course, he always wakes up in his tiny room in his packed student house. There's books and exams and essays to write during the day, mates to see down at the pub in the evening. It's not a bad life, it's just not the one he'd wanted as a teenager. Though he supposes every teen dreams of fame at some point. He's settled into the idea of being a solicitor now, and it's very unfair of Grimmy to join the show Harry had tried to go on, five years too late. 

Also, it's incredibly unfair of Gemma to send him these things when she knows he's supposed to be studying. 

He texts as much to Gemma and packs up his books, because he's not going to get much done without getting out of the library to stretch his legs for a while. The beach is nearby, though, and there should be something going on to keep him distracted for a while. 

~*~ 

Gemma calls when Harry's on his way to Nando's to pick up dinner since he's got nothing in and his kitchen is usually overrun by his messy housemates. 

"Are you seriously in a strop about this?" she asks without saying hello. 

"No," Harry says. Because he's not. At all. Definitely not. He definitely hasn't spent the last half hour thinking about how he might actually be friends with Nick Grimshaw if he'd gone past bootcamp the first time.

"You could audition this year, you know." There's a definite smirk in Gemma's voice, and Harry knows _exactly_ what she looks like when she does that. She's the smarter older sister, and never lets him forget it, after all. 

"I'll be in the middle of exams when it comes up." It was in July last time, Harry thinks. He can't remember, there were so many days and they had to go back a few times. Had to wear all the same clothes each time. Harry had wanted to burn that scarf by the time he finally made it in front of the judges. 

"Haz, you make sure to take a walk through Regent's Park every time you come to London. This is much less Swimfan of you. Find out when the auditions are and go for it. You've got a good voice maybe you'll make it this time." 

Harry stays silent, but Gemma seems keen to wait him out. "Maybe," he finally says. He's spent so long talking himself out of his old dream of becoming famous and being on stage that he's forgotten how to want it. The open mic nights down at the nearest pub were enough for a law student who was serious about finishing his course and going into practice. 

"It's not for certain he's a judge, anyway," Gemma says, voice turning soothing, like she's trying to calm a wounded animal. Harry may be clumsy but he can handle walking home and talking on the phone at the same time. Usually. He hasn't broken any bones. Not this way, at least. Yet. "Just keep an eye on it, and if the timing's right maybe you can apply and come up to audition. Or come up and attend the auditions, I'll see if Chloe can get us passes for a day if it's happening." 

"Yeah, alright." Harry kicks at some gravel on the pavement, watches it dance across the flat surface in front of him before settling back in like it had never moved in the first place. Two seconds later Harry can't even pick out which of the tiny stones he'd sent flying in the first place.

Gemma changes the subject and Harry turns for home, and they chat until he's at the door of his house because he can already hear Justin's music, which means he's not going to get much more studying done tonight, but also that he can't talk to anyone. He doesn't mind, because he likes Justin's music for the most part, it's just irritating that he sometimes has to leave the house to make personal calls. 

The bassline thumps through the door once Harry's shut up in his room, and he can't quite stop thinking about auditioning for X Factor again. 

~*~ 

It takes four more long weeks before the news is officially announced; that Nick has a seat at the judges table with Rita Ora, and that Olly Murs and Caroline Flack will be hosting. 

By then Harry's picked out a song to audition with (James Bay's _If You Ever Want to Be In Love_ ), his outfit for the day(s) of his audition, and has given up completely on pretending that he doesn't want to do it anymore. Even if he has stopped short of actually practising the song. Well, not more than singing along when it comes up on his shuffled playlist. Which is often, because he's got a short playlist of songs he's considering for the X Factor. James Bay is at the top of the list, though. He remembers the way Nick had fancied him quite a bit after they'd brought him in for a last minute Live Lounge replacement. Harry's got the long hair and he could find a hat if he wanted to, but that's probably a bit too on the nose. 

Harry doesn't even know if he'll be able to make it around exams. Or if he does, if he'll make it through all the extra rounds before he gets to the judges. He'll buy a hat for bootcamp if he makes it that far. 

~*~

There's a section at the end of the application that asks him to write up to 150 words on why he wants to be a contestant on the show. He drafts about five different versions before settling on: 

> _Five years ago, I tried out for X Factor. I was sixteen and promised my mum that if it didn't work, I would do my A-Levels and finish a degree. I made it as far as bootcamp before I got booted. Since then, I've done as I promised: I finished my A-Levels, and have just completed a law degree at the University of Brighton. Along the way I forgot how much I loved performing. I had a band back when I did my A-Levels, but we all ended up at different universities. Since then I perform when I can for my friends. I've got my practice course in London planned for next year, but I'm ready to give it up and give everything for music because I love being on stage._
> 
> _And I want to meet Grimmy._

When he's done, he's got ten extra words to play with, but he's happy with the statement as it is, and he takes a deep breath before he hits submit. 

A confirmation pops up on his phone a few minutes later, telling him that his application will be reviewed and his audition spot confirmed within five days. Once he's marked it in his email and taken five screenshots of the information to keep on his phone, and sent one to Gemma just to be sure, he goes downstairs to bake the brownies he'd promised the house for their party. 

~*~ 

Sitting backstage and waiting to go on in front of a whole arena is a lot worse than Harry remembers. There's somewhere around fifty acts (at least) that start out in the green room, and the number gets continually smaller as groups of ten or so get pulled out to wait immediately backstage, or individuals get called out to do extra bits for X Factor or Xtra Factor based on their applications. Harry's done an interview with Olly and Caroline, but he knows they could pull him for more comedy bits. The room is more than half empty, and it's past midnight when one of the runners (the people in black shirts, Harry had finally asked what their job title was instead of just numbering them in his head. The count had got too high too quickly to keep track, anyway) comes in and points at him, speaking to one of the producers -- identifiable, Harry's learned, by their tablets and air of self importance -- on the sidelines. The runner talks for another minute or two before the producer nods. 

"Harry Styles, come with me please." Harry follows her through a maze backstage. There's cameras everywhere and stacks of unused equipment and lights and cords. Harry has to work to make sure he doesn't trip over himself and break something, because it would be just his luck to injure himself backstage before he even gets the chance to perform.

"We've had a change of plans, because Nick needs to leave soon so he can get some sleep, and we thought we'd be further along tonight, but Simon's had several people sing their second choices before the vote, and we've had some technical faults which hold everything up. There's a note on your application that they want you in before Grimmy goes, so we've brought you in now. You've got two more ahead of you and then you're up. Someone will come get you shortly." 

Harry swallows and nods, and sits down on one of the boxes that look like they're waiting just for him. He can hear the songs being sung, roar of the crowd, cheering or booing the judges’ decisions. The music starts up again for the second person, the one right before him, and the runner who'd escorted him down, her name tag says Meghan, comes out from around a corner. 

"You ready?" 

"I think so," Harry says. There's not much else for it, he can't back out now. If nothing else, Gemma would never stop mocking him. 

"Come on then. Alyssa's up now, they'll make a decision. Then you're up." She hands Harry a microphone, and he grips it for dear life whilst waiting for his cue to walk out from behind the curtains. 

The applause goes on for ages, and Meghan keeps a hand on her headset, waiting. Like she'll be able to hear better like that or something. Harry will ask later if he remembers. And if he sees Meghan again. 

Too soon she's shoving him out. There's a big X on the stage floor and Harry moves to it, knowing that's where he needs to stand. The arena isn't full, but the audience are loud, humming angrily waiting for the next act. The buzzing is floating out of the darkness, and Harry can't find any single face to concentrate on.

Except for the judges, who are sitting in a short row behind a table under a very bright spotlight. There's a few people in black shirts moving around behind them, fixing Rita's hair, dabbing powder on Cheryl's face. Grimmy is on the end fiddling with his phone, but he stops the moment Simon speaks. 

"What's your name?" 

"I'm Harry," he says. 

"And where are you from, Harry?" It's Nick this time. Nick is suddenly sitting straight up in his chair, looming over the rest of the panel and speaking straight to him. It's part of the show, the way things work, but Nick's speaking to _him_. 

"I'm from Cheshire. But I'm at uni in Brighton." 

"What are you studying?" Nick. Again. Aren't they supposed to trade off talking? 

"I've just finished my last exams for a law degree. I'm waiting for my results." 

"So you thought you'd pop in and audition in the meantime?"

"Yes?" 

"You've been here before, haven't you, Harry?" Simon's speaking this time, finally getting his question in before Nick can ask another. Harry turns his attention to him, though he can see Rita furiously whispering to Nick. 

"I auditioned five years ago when I was sixteen." 

"What happened there?" It's Cheryl now, so Harry turns to face her. It doesn't take much but he likes to make sure he's looking at the person he's speaking to. Nick is just at the edge of his focus and the longer he stays there the harder it is for Harry to keep looking at other people instead. 

"I made it to bootcamp, but wasn't good enough." 

"Why did you come back now? Why not come back the year after to try again?" Nick's jumped in again, leaning forward on his elbows over the table, which means Harry gets to look at him. He's wearing a green shirt, buttoned up nicely, and Harry can see the white jeans he's wearing sticking out from under the table. Harry forces himself not to think about how long his legs are, because that will lead nowhere good. There's plenty of time for that later. 

"I promised my mum I would get my degree first," he says. The angry buzzing stops, and is replaced by a much more gentle awww that runs around the stadium, starting from the judges table.

"Was this the plan all along, then?" 

"I had a band for a while, when I was still in school but we stopped when we all went off to uni. And I sort of forgot how much I liked being up here the last time. Until now, anyway. This is great." 

"So why did you come back this year?" Cheryl asks. 

Harry smiles, he can't help it. He knows he looks cute doing it, too, so he doesn't even try to fight for control of his face. "I wanted to meet Grimmy." 

Rita's jaw drops and she looks at Nick with wide eyes. Harry probably looks like he's turning into a very warm tomato, and the entire audience has erupted into shrieks and cheers like Harry's just delivered the best punchline at the end of a stand up routine. 

Simon takes over speaking to get the audience back on track. "I see that you are singing some James Bay for us today, is that right?" 

Nick bites his lip, and Harry is suddenly certain that he's made all the right decisions the last few months. "Yes. I'll be singing _If You Ever Want To Be In Love._ " 

"Whenever you're ready." 

Harry nods, and waits for the music to start. 

~*~ 

"Thank you for that," Simon says once Harry's finished and the cheers in the stadium start to die down. "Cheryl, what did you think?" 

"I love you. I want to take you home with me so I can listen to you sing and speak to me all day. I love your look, with the long hair." 

"I'm so jealous of your hair," Rita jumps in. Harry laughs. He's had so many people tell him that before. 

"There is definitely something about you," Cheryl continues. "I want to see more of what you've got to show us." 

"Rita?" 

"Can you sing something else for us? Because I don't want you to go. You've done this before, but you haven't for a long time. And I am so sad that you've kept us from knowing you for five years." 

“Nick?" 

"Your face does not match your voice," Nick says when it's his turn. "You're like George Ezra. Cute little face, dimples, that smile. _Great_ hair. And then you start singing and you've got this wonderful deep voice. I think you'd sound great on radio." 

Harry smiles. "Thank you." He lets his dimples stay out while he waits for Simon's comments. 

"I want to say I made a mistake, sending you home five years ago," he starts. "But I don't think I can do that. Because if I'd let you through then, you wouldn't be here now, and that was an amazing performance. I think you want this more than you'll let yourself believe, and I am sorry that I probably had a hand in that. I think we should vote. Nick?" 

"Yes. Absolutely yes. I can't wait to see you again." 

Harry blushes a bit. 

"Yes, of course yes," Rita says. "And I want to see Grimmy seeing you again." 

Nick puts his head down on the table, and Harry's smiling so hard he feels like his face is going to burst. 

"I'm definitely saying yes," Cheryl says. 

"You've got four big yesses," Simon says. "We'll see you at bootcamp." 

The crowd cheers, and Harry couldn't stop smiling now if his life depended on it, even though he can see a producer behind the judges telling him he needs to move off the stage. "Thank you!" 

The judges stand up and move onto the stage he's just vacated. They're talking but Harry doesn't get to hear them. As soon as he's back to the waiting area, Olly and Caroline are beckoning him over and a runner is guiding him into place and taking his stage mic from him to exchange for one of the ones hooked into this camera system. 

Harry's not sure he'll be able to stop smiling long enough to give even two lines of an interview. 

~*~ 

Technically, Judges Houses is supposed to just be one weekend long, but it turns out that it's a lot more involved than that. He probably should have expected things to be more complicated than that, given that no matter what they try to do it seems to take three times as long as planned. At bootcamp, Nick had left the resort before Harry even got to sing, and the Six Chair challenge had gone on so long that he started to wonder if he'd ever see the outside of Fountain Studios again.

Harry goes home, but he has to be back in London several more times for meetings: first to sign his contracts, then to start working with the producers and coaches for song choices, which includes a quick meeting of the entire category with Nick. Judges houses are supposed to be filmed live, but it gets canned last minute, so they're handed new schedules of where they need to report to and when. 

Harry's audition airs in the third week on Sunday. He's one of the last up of the night, and they make a bigger deal of it than he thought they would. They show his first audition, back when he was sixteen, and him crying as he's sent home. He remembers that ridiculous hat, though. Probably still has it somewhere in a box in his closet. Harry watches at home with his mum and Robin, but he's texting Gemma furiously the whole time the story is playing, including his interviews about wanting to go out for the show just to meet Nick. 

It's weird that he's about to spend a full weekend with him somewhere. 

It's also weirder than he thought it would be, watching himself on television. The size of his face is one thing, though he's sort of used to that from his mum videoing everything he's ever done and playing it out at family parties. It's the way he's watched X factor every year, and done it before and now he's through. He's a step farther than he was last time. He wants it more than he did last time. 

Last time he was sixteen and just wanted to be famous. 

Now he's twenty-one and knows he wants to perform. 

~*~

The setup for the singing at the house is simple enough. There's a set of chairs for all of them for the evening, an interview space for them to stop in after, and while the inside is being set up, they all give before interviews. 

Harry wanders away while Che is up in front of the cameras. The house is surrounded by woods so he heads for the treeline, the lush grass bouncing under his feet. It's not that he's nervous, exactly, but he's starting to get a bit worried in a roundabout way.

His phone's been confiscated for the day, with the crew rumbling about confidentiality, so he doesn't have anything to distract him, like sending Gemma nonsense texts. 

He probably stays out a bit too long because it's Nick who comes to get him, picking through the tall grass in his immaculate boots. 

"Are you all right?" He asks, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's good to be a bit nervous." 

Harry shakes his head. He's not nervous about his singing. "That's not it." It's something that's been at the back of his mind since bootcamp. "I just. I'm not sure I'm doing this for the right reasons." 

"This about you fancying me?" Nick asks, a soft smile on his face. "It's fine if you do. I fancy me plenty and look what I've done." 

Harry laughs, and smiles at Nick. "Sort of. I want this. Enough that I came back as soon as I finished my degree. But I really did send in my application on a lark, thought it would be fun if I got to meet you that way instead of dragging my sister down to Regents Park on the weekends." 

"That's a bit creepy," Nick admits. 

"We're not being recorded, are we?" Harry's suddenly aware that there's sound equipment _everywhere_. This is reality television, and he's agreed to let them use his image in any way they see fit to promote the program. 

"I've turned off my pack, don't worry," Nick says. "Not everything needs to make it to the editing room." 

Harry breathes again. 

"Look, every time I see you on stage I love you," Nick says. "I love that you look young but sound so much older and more mature. You're quick and clever, and you've got that X Factor." Nick winks at him. "We can all see that you love being on stage. I don't think it matters why you're here, not now that you've made it this far." 

Nick slings his arm over Harry's shoulder, and Harry presses into his side for the few moments he'll be allowed to do this. He smells amazing, and a shiver runs through Harry with how much he wants this to be the normal. It never will be; Nick's a judge and Harry's a contestant and their lives outside of this competition are wildly divergent. For for just a few moments Harry can pretend, can act like there's a future built on this one moment. 

"Thank you," he says. _For talking me into staying. For not being creeped out by my half-arsed stalking. For being amazing the way you've always been._ He can only hope Nick hears the rest of that, which he can't quite say out loud, before he has to turn on his mic again and go inside for the next performance. 

Che throws his arms around Harry's shoulder when he gets back to the sofa they're all gathered on outside, and Simon squeezes his knee, and Harry knows that this is where he wants to be. 

~*~

It's a bad situation, and Harry knows it. To be up in the semi-finals singing for his life against Lauren, who has been the show's darling since the very beginning. His heart is pounding, standing next to Caroline, up in front of the judges, waiting to see if they vote for him or not. There's cameras on him, focused on his face. Focused on Caroline's arm around his back. 

Somewhere out there in the audience his mum and sister are watching. His mum's been coming down to the show every weekend since the lives started. He know she's watching him. The only thing he can see is Nick's face. Nick's eyes locked on his. Rita's casting her vote, and Harry doesn't even hear what she says, the roaring is so loud. 

"So that's two votes for Harry, and one vote for Lauren," Caroline says. "Nick, if you vote to keep Harry, we go to deadlock, and the audience decides." 

Time stops. The roar of the audience recedes. Either that, or Harry goes suddenly deaf, which is not a good thing given the career he wants to have. He could always go back and pick up his training year to be a solicitor again, but now that he's got a taste of being something else, he doesn't want to. He's not sure how to break it to his mum now that he just doesn't want that anymore, if he ever really did. His heart is pounding so loud that he can't hear Nick. He only knows that Nick's said something because his mouth is moving and Caroline squeezes his side. 

"With two votes each, we are going to go to a deadlock, which means that the public get to decide." 

Harry doesn't break eye contact with Nick. He's frozen to the spot, and he knows, he _knows_ that this is it. His re-awakened dream is about to die on this stage, with millions of people watching. 

"We can now reveal that the act with the fewest votes is," Caroline is speaking now. "Harry Styles. I'm so sorry, darling." 

Harry blinks. He's out. It's the semi-finals and he's out. His heart is cracked open and lying on the floor somewhere under Simon Cowell's shiny loafers. He's vaguely aware of Lauren joining the other finalists, all of them hugging and crying, but Harry's just frozen. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to throw a tantrum about something, even though he's not sure what. Unfairness generally. Except that it is fair. He entered a contest for public votes, and he didn't get enough. He's up against huge talents, and he's the last of the boys in. It's just him, Louisa, Lauren and Reggie and Bollie left. Except that he's out. 

No one in the house has ever wanted to talk about it, but they've all got speeches at the back of their minds, what they'll say when it's over. Harry's has been swimming at the back of his head since the third double elimination, when Mason had gone, leaving just him standing in Nick's category. 

It takes a minute for the crowd to go silent again, and then it's Harry's turn to speak. "I'm disappointed," Harry says, answering Olly's question about how he's feeling. "It's hard to get so close to the end and fall short. But being here has reminded me how much I love music and love performing, and this is definitely not the end of me. I will be back. And I have to say thank you to all the judges, and especially Nick, who has been such an incredible mentor." Harry sniffles a bit. He can get through this before the tears start. He's such an ugly crier, and no one needs to see that in high definition. "I was so lucky to work with you the last few months. Thank you." 

Caroline takes over the end script, and Harry turns away from the cameras, sniffling more, because he can feel the tears slamming into his eyes now. It's going to happen. There's a tap on his shoulder, and Harry turns to find Nick standing just behind him, arms open. Harry folds himself into them like he belongs there, which he wants to. It's not the first time Nick's hugged him; it's happened a lot, especially since Harry was his last act left in the competition. He tucks his face into Nick's neck, not caring that all the cameras are still on them, because Nick's been the center of his world the last month. 

"I've got to do a bit for Xtra," Nick says, still holding him tight. "Go on backstage, go have a cup of tea. Talk to your mum, and I'll be back when I can, yeah?" 

Harry nods, but doesn't let go until Nick does, carefully keeping his face away from the cameras at the front of the stage. The changeover between the main results show and the Xtra factor is a flurry of activity backstage while all the cameras are focused on the judges. Nick's dressing room is the nearest to the stage, so it takes just a minute for Harry to duck inside away from the chaos. He does this most nights, he needs a bit of quiet away from the backstage chaos and the screams of the audience. Nick's dressing room isn't exactly quiet, given how many people are constantly popping in and out looking for Nick, but it's a far cry from the contestant's green room or dressing rooms. The only thing that comes close is his room in the contestant's house, now that he has it to himself. Nick's room smells nice, he constantly has candles burning and fresh flowers on the tables. There's a kettle in the corner with mugs and teabags and a little jug of milk, so Harry goes straight for that, turning the kettle on before ducking into Nick's toilet for some tissues to wipe off his face. It comes back smeared with his stage makeup, and Harry has a weird nostalgic moment where he realizes he's not going to need that for a while. It's the weirdest thing to ever pop into his head and he laughs hysterically as the kettle clicks off and he makes his tea. 

Nick comes in just as Harry's stirring in the milk (no need to watch his dairy and worry about his vocal cords anymore — the laughter dies abruptly and he has to hold back tears again). 

"Do us one as well?" Nick asks. 

"Are you sure? You have to get up in the morning." 

Nick smiles, small and sweet. Harry's going to miss this. Miss that smile. Having Nick as someone he can just call up and chat to when he's worried. "Let me worry about that, Hazza. Just do us some tea and come here." He sits down on the sofa and pats the seat beside him. 

Harry does. He doesn't know exactly how Nick takes it, so he does it the same as his: strong, a little bit of sugar, a good dose of milk. Nick's checking his phone, scrolling through his texts, and he hands his phone to Harry in exchange for the mug, though he mostly holds the mug in his hands instead of drinking it while Harry reads. 

"What's this?" 

"I've got a group whatsapp going with my friends, and they were all watching tonight. You should see what they say." 

There's a lot of capslock, a lot of _WHAT? THEY'RE CRAZY!!!,_ More exclamation points than Harry's ever seen outside of texting with Gemma. There's pressure behind his eyes again, and if this keeps going Harry's going to have a very difficult time sleeping tonight. He's going to dry out and then just feel vaguely sick for a while. 

"Thank you?" Harry drinks his tea and hands the phone back. 

Nick looks at his phone and laughs at himself. "You don't know who anyone is, do you?" he scrolls until he gets to a particular message and hands it back. "See this one?" 

Harry looks. The message is short, to the point. _Criminal. Absolutely mental._

"That's my friend Mairead. She was here the other week, Arlo's mum?" 

Harry remembers Arlo, he was a sweet kid, tried to pretend he was shy, but three minutes later was climbing Harry like he'd known him forever while Harry and Nick had tried to talk about his upcoming performance. "I remember Arlo." 

"Do you know what Mairead does?" Nick sips his tea. "She manages Flo." 

The adrenaline crash is hitting and reality is setting in, and Harry is suddenly ridiculously tired. He has absolutely no clue who Nick is talking about, and it must show on his face. 

"Long red hair, bit of a nutter, but great voice?" 

"Florence and the Machine?" Harry asks, the answer cementing in his brain. 

"That's the one," Nick says, knocking his knee against Harry's. "She told me weeks ago she wanted a crack at you." Nick scrolls through his phone a bit more. "Might have to fight Aimee for you, though," he hands it over, where Harry can see Aimee's response is just a bunch of angry emojis. "Aimee's been out of the full time game for a few years now, but she's smart, and she'll turn you into a phenomenon. More than just a pop act off a talent competition. I know it doesn't feel like it, but you're actually in a really good position right now." 

Harry doesn't look up from where he's hunched over his tea. Nick sets his phone down on the table in front of them and rubs Harry's back. 

"You're not on a winner's contract, and you've got the tour coming up after Christmas, but once that's over, you can make your own decision about what you want to do for your career. Simon will probably make you an offer as well, but just remember that you don't have to take it." 

Nick's hand is warm on his back, and it's doing a hell of a lot more than the tea for making him feel better. There's probably something wrong with him for that. Tea is supposed to cure everything, but Nick is the better remedy. 

"I've got to be here next week, but week after next I'm having some friends over for a Sunday roast before we all separate for Christmas. You should come. We'll figure out what's next for you." 

"Okay," Harry says. 

Nick kisses the top of his head and stands up. "Stay in here as much as long as you like. I'll tell Roch where you are since they'll want to talk to you on Xtra once you've calmed down and cleaned up a bit. I'll tell your mum where to find you. But I've got to go so I can sleep." 

"Thank you," Harry says. "For everything." 

"We're not through yet, Styles," Nick says. "I like you too much to see you disappear." 

Harry smiles at him. He can't manage much more than a small one, with just a hint of his dimples popping out, but it's the best he's felt all night. 

~*~ 

Once he's gone, Harry loses track of time until there's a knock on his door. "Harry?" It's Julia, one of the Xtra Factor runners. "You there?" 

Harry gets up to open the door. He's finished his tea and Nick's besides, and he sort of has to wee, but he knew they'd be coming for him at some point before the hour was over. 

"You're up with Mel and Roch in five. Lou wants to touch up your face." 

Harry laughs at himself over how he'd thought he'd never be sat in that chair again. It's only an hour later. He doesn't particularly want to be on camera anymore tonight, but it's part of the job, part of being on this show, so he follows Julia out to the makeup station. 

"Oh but you look a wreck, love," Lou says, grabbing for the foundation labelled with his name. Harry closes his eyes and lets her work. "You'll be fine, you know? Grim will work his magic for you. He knows _everyone_." 

Harry hums vaguely and lets her continue patching up his face until Julia comes to bring him back out on stage again. 

The end of Xtra is the same every week, each new contestant repeating the same speech generally, how glad they were to have the experience, how they still want to sing, how much they've loved everyone involved with the show, especially the judges. Harry's no different. He talks about how much he's looking forward to getting out on tour with everyone after Christmas, and then surprises himself by saying that he's planning to move to London to pursue music more than he has. He'll need to apologise to his mum about that, since he hadn't told her that he was going to even consider that as a future after X Factor. 

"Well, we wish you all the best, Harry," Rochelle says. "We'll miss you loads." 

"It's only one week left," Harry says. He's got no idea where he's bringing any sort of clever response from, since he's still mostly numb from earlier. But he's playing his part, doing what he needs to do to keep up his end of the deal made by coming on the show in the first place. "But I'll be back for the tour." 

"Yes you will," Melvin agrees. Harry stands and smiles while they sign off and toss to Adam Lambert who is playing out the end of the show. 

Once the cameras have cut away from them, Harry circles around the stage so he can go back to Nick's dressing room, where he finds his mum and sister waiting for him, and he collapses into their arms. 

"Oh love," Anne says. "You were brilliant tonight." 

"Not good enough," Harry says. 

The two empty mugs of tea are still sitting on the table and looking at them reminds Harry that he desperately needs the toilet, so he politely ducks out of his mum's arms and into Nick's toilet which is small but still has the same delicious candles burning inside. It smells like Nick in here, and Harry wonders if his home is the same. He's seen the pictures on Nick's instagram, knows the decorations are different, but he wonders if it smells the same. Probably, given the candles. Nick's the only judge who has them. Harry briefly considers stealing one. 

Then considers that Nick would probably think him rude and never want to see him again. 

Instead, he closes his eyes and lets himself breathe it in so that he can remember exactly what it smells like even when he's dropped out of Nick's life and back on track to practice law. 

~*~ 

Holmes Chapel feels even sleepier than it had before Harry left for uni. Now that he's lived in London, lived in a television studio for most of it, his small home village feels even more stifling. He sleeps most of the day, not because he's depressed (though that doesn't help) but because he's exhausted. He'd never assumed being a popstar was easy, but there's even more work in it than he'd thought, and he'd just been on a show, he's not actually a proper popstar yet. 

On Wednesday, when he should be shuttling between sessions with the voice coaches, the choreographers, and wardrobe, he goes back to the bakery to pick up a loaf of bread for tea and a cake just because. He ends up cuddling on the sofa with his mum instead of doing anything productive with his day, mostly because there's nothing for him to do. He thinks about texting Nick, but there's no point to it now. All he wants to do is be wrapped up in blankets and cuddled, which isn't very pop-star like. He's spent the last few months being told that part of being a popstar is hard work, and he'd done that, but it hadn't made a difference in the end. 

His train back to London is early Friday morning to be back in time for the group number at the final, and it takes until Thursday after tea, when he's sitting with his mum on the sofa watching last week's episode of TFI to bring up what's been on his mind for weeks now.

"Would it be okay if I moved to London after Christmas and the tour?" Harry asks. "If I gave up my placement for next year." 

Anne doesn't say anything at first, just watches the end credits of whatever was on before that are scrolling through. He knows that if this were live, everyone would be running around right now, trying to get to their marks before the cameras start rolling. It's a different show, but from the other appearances he'd made the morning after his elimination, it seems to be a universal thing. Harry misses that chaos in his bones, especially now that he's back in such a sleepy village. 

"Did you even want to be a barrister?" Anne asks. "Or did you do that for me?" 

Harry takes time to consider his answer. He'd liked what he'd been doing, usually. It had been fine, just…not enough, in the end. "I thought I wanted it," he says. "Until I got on stage again. I know I went in just to meet Grimmy, but turns out I really wanted to sing, too." 

"I know, love," she says, squeezing his shoulder. "I loved watching you up there every week." 

"But would you be okay with it if I did that instead of my practice course? The show is one thing, and I'll be touring after Christmas, but I don't want to stop once that's done, and I don't have anything for sure yet." 

"You'll find it," Anne says. "And Grimmy loves you, you know that. He'll help you meet people." 

"Yeah," Harry says. Nick's made that offer, invited him for a Sunday roast next weekend. Which is scary in a whole different way that Harry isn't sure he can think about. It's one thing to have Nick be his mentor, to invite him out to gigs after rehearsals and hang around helping out and generally being a pest while Harry tries to rehearse for his performances. Now that the show's over, inviting him for a roast with all his friends is different. Even if Harry's met a lot of them already. "He's invited me for tea next weekend," Harry says. "For a Sunday roast with his friends." 

"You should go," Anne says. "Tell him you'll be there." 

Harry blushes, because he's not got his mum encouraging whatever this is, even if she doesn't know it yet. Harry doesn't even know what it is yet. 

He tilts his phone screen so his mum can't see it, and slowly types out a message to Nick. _Hi Grimmy. Sorry for not texting sooner, it's been a weird week. I miss the show and home is too quiet now._ Harry hesitates but doesn't add _I miss you_ to it. It's maybe not what he wants to say right at this moment. _After the last show you invited me to a roast next sunday and if it's still okay I think I want to come down?_

Nick responds right away, the way he always does when Harry texts him. _Course it is. I'll bully Mairead into coming too. Can't get rid of Aims if I tried._

It's a quick message, but it's enough, and Harry smiles at his telly. "So I'm going to Grimmy's next weekend." 

Anne squeezes him, and they both fall silent.

~*~

Simon calls on Wednesday after the final. 

Well, one of his assistant’s calls and tells Harry that he's got a meeting with Simon set up between preliminary meetings with wardrobe and production for the X Factor live tour. 

His office is intimidating, starting with the row of cute blondes sitting behind computers in the corridor. He'd heard that Simon liked to employ girls who all look the same, but it's weirdly creepy to see in person, especially when they all smile at him and wave him on. The one nearest the door steps out from behind her desk to meet him. 

"Hi Harry, I'm Hannah. Simon will be with you in just a minute." She pushes open the large, heavy door and leads Harry inside to a lounge area, where there's a rather large portrait of Simon hanging above a sofa. "Can I get you anything? Tea or Coffee? Water?" 

"A water would be lovely, thanks, Hannah," Harry says. He hovers near the sofa, unsure of whether or not he should be sitting down. 

"You're welcome to sit," She says before disappearing out the door. 

Harry doesn't. Instead, he makes a slow circuit of the room, which is rather bland, all told. There's a glass door leading to what he thinks is the actual office, but out here in this space there's nothing personal, just white furniture and a window looking out over a fairly calm street in central London. 

He completely misses Simon coming in, which means he jumps when Simon says _Hello_. 

Hannah hands him a glass of water, and opens the door through to the connecting office, where Harry is directed to sit in one of the chairs opposite Simon across the desk, and the door is closed behind them. 

"How are you, Harry?" 

"I'm very well, thank you." There's still very little personality in the office, and Harry tries to get a look at the few photos on the shelf behind Simon without being too obvious about it. It's probably impossible. "And yourself?" 

"I'm good, I'm good." Simon takes a sip of coffee and turns to face Harry straight on. He's been around Simon the entire time, but since Simon wasn't his mentor he hasn't spent much time with him and his presence is intimidating. He has to force himself to hold his ground and not slump over, even though he can already feel his back complaining. "So I'm sure you know why you're here today." 

Harry has an idea, but he hasn't let himself think about it too much. He nods anyway. 

"Of course. You were one of our most popular acts, even though you left the show much too soon, and I would like to offer you a contract here at Syco. The winner of course has a guaranteed contract, but we like to keep an eye out for other talent that's coming through our doors. We think you have what it takes, and for the minute, the fans are ready for you to give them more music." 

Hearing the words makes Harry's heart jump. He knew it was a possibility. Ella Henderson finished sixth and she'd been given a contract, and was now doing amazingly well. But. Nick had wanted to introduce him to more people, or at least re-introduce him to people that he's met, with an eye towards business, and Nick's been the best thing for Harry so far. 

Simon slides a packet towards Harry. "The terms are very generous. We'll put you up in a flat in London and take care of everything for you. We've got an excellent management team waiting for you as well." 

Harry takes the paper and looks down. The first page seems to be a summary, and the numbers on the page make his head swim; there's a lot of zeroes. 

"Do I have to say yes right now?" Harry wants some time to sit down and go through the terms being offered. He'd made it far enough in his legal training that he'll be able to understand all the terms of the offer, but not without time and probably a lot of tea. 

"I would like an answer within a few weeks," Simon says. "I'll give you the name of a few attorneys if you want to have someone else look at the contract to be sure it's fair." 

"It's not that," Harry says, though he'd been thinking of that as well. "Just. I don't want to say yes to the first offer." 

"Nick works faster than I thought," Harry had been trying to be diplomatic, but Simon's voice is bitter in response. 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Don't worry about it," Simon says. "I'll talk to him." 

Harry blinks a few times, unsure of exactly what is happening. 

"Look, the offer you have is very generous, and I think you could be huge, you already are. So think about it, and give me a call when you decide." 

"All right." Harry looks down at the papers in front of him, the numbers swimming up again. 

Simon presses a button on his phone and calls Hannah back in to escort Harry out, and that's it. 

~*~ 

By the time Harry knocks on Nick's door he's buzzing both from nerves and from the excitement of seeing Nick again. There's music and talking coming from inside, muffled by the doorway, and Harry can't tell at all how many people are there. But he can clearly hear Nick's voice above the din.

"Harold!" Nick practically shouts when he opens the door, pulling him in and hugging him tight. Harry holds on, because he can, and because there's no one else in the hallway right now. There seems to be a crowd waiting, but for now it's just the two of them, and it's better than it was the last time they'd seen each other on Nick's show the day after Harry'd been kicked off. "I've missed your face." 

"Just my face?" Harry says without thinking. He's got no idea what he's doing right now, he's just glad to be back with Nick, to know that he's not about to lose Nick as a friend now that the show's over. He sort of knew that Nick didn't really give people up, but it's nice to know that he's going to be in that category now, too. 

"Come on in and meet people," Nick says. "I've crammed all of London in here I think. They never come round just for me, they're all here for you." 

"No pressure, then," Harry says. Nick shuts the door behind him, blocking out the cold December air, which means that Harry is suddenly too hot in his coat and scarf and second scarf underneath. 

Nick stops about two steps down the hallway. "Give me your coat, I'll put it on the bed with the others. And the toilet's through here, if you need it. Which I'm sure you will in five minutes." 

That much is true, Harry'd earned himself a reputation on set for needing to wee every twenty minutes. It's not his fault he drinks a lot of water, though. He just believes in being healthy. 

Harry looks on from the door as Nick adds Harry's coat to the pile on the bed (the huge, fluffy, white bed Harry's only ever seen in pictures on Nick's Snapchat and Instagram before today; his huge bed that Harry wants nothing more than to snuggle down into it burying himself in the duvet to protect against the cold outside) and waits for Nick to join him again before stepping into the living room where it does indeed look like half of London is piled in. It's easy to spot Aimee's bright pink hair, and since Harry knows her, he goes to her immediately. 

"Hiya," Aimee drawls, her New York accent standing out among the range of accents Harry can hear, mostly Northern and London. She rises up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "How are you holding up, love?" The endearment sounds odd in her voice, but the sentiment is appreciated. 

"I'm okay," Harry says. "Could be better. Could have won." 

"Nah, we'll make you a star no matter what. I've got a _plan_." 

Harry can hear the italics in her voice, which is encouraging. 

"Tell me about this plan of yours, then." 

"Glitter," Aimee says, deadpan. "Lots of glitter. Buckets." 

"She's not joking," someone says, coming up behind Aimee. It takes a minute for Harry to recognize Ian, since he's never met him in real life, just seen him in pictures of the show. "She'll roll you in it given half the chance." 

"Glitter hair is in," Aimee says. "You'll be bang on trend." 

"My sister's doing the glitter hair thing," Harry says. "Usually just ends up all over her face." 

"See, I can work with that," Aimee tells him, reaching up and positioning his face in better light, or something. He lets her, because he likes to be touched, and she's got a look on her face like she's figuring something out. "You've got great cheekbones, we can definitely do something with your face." 

"You're not doing anything to his face," Nick says, hooking an arm around Harry's neck. Harry leans into him, pleased to have Nick back with him. "His face is great." 

"It'd look better with glitter, is all I'm saying," Aimee says. Ian's got his arm around her shoulders, in a mirror of the way Nick's holding Harry in place, and for a minute Harry lets himself dream that that is really what is happening, that he's not Nick's special guest just this once, but rather a close friend or even a boyfriend, that this is something they do regularly. 

"Glitter's all wrong," someone else says, coming over. "And he'd never get it out of his hair." 

"Harry, this is Mairead. I told you there'd be a fight," Nick says. "Claws away until after dinner." 

Harry holds out his hand automatically, well used to meeting ten new people every day. He does remember Arlo, though, so he asks, "How's Arlo doing? Is he here?" 

She laughs, so Harry feels like he's done something right, which is nice. "He's over there, with his dad," she says pointing to a small cluster of people over by what must be the door to the kitchen. Harry can see a tall man with a small boy on his hip, arms waving wildly at someone next to them. Harry vaguely recognizes her, too, but he can't recall the name anyway. "He loves these dinners, he's always the center of attention. Makes Grim here jealous." 

"Shurrup," Nick says. "I'm not that needy. And I can dress myself, so that's two points to me." 

Everyone laughs, and Harry smiles, not sure if he should or not. He doesn't know Nick that well yet. 

Aimee gives him a very noticeable head to toe _look_ , making everyone around them laugh again. Nick's wearing a loose pair of jeans that are nearly more hole than actual jean, and an oversized jumper and a scuffed, dirty pair of white trainers. Harry thinks Nick looks great, but he's well known to have a bias, so he's not sure his opinion counts right now. Or at all. 

"Harry likes what I wear," Nick says. He tugs on the end of Harry's scarf. "He's wearing my clothing." 

Aimee and Ian exchange a look that Harry can't read, but it makes Nick go pink and take his arm off Harry's shoulder. Harry immediately feels a bit cold, and misses the warm weight on his shoulders. 

"Do you want a drink?" Nick asks, taking a step away. Harry wonders what he did wrong. "I've got beer and wine and vodka if you like. I might have something to mix it with." 

Aimee shakes her glass. "There's some tonic in the fridge." 

"Sounds good," Harry says. 

Nick turns away immediately to go get the drink and Harry's unsure of exactly what he'd ordered, or what just happened and it must show on his face. 

"Don't worry about him," Ian says. "He'll be fine." 

"Sure," Harry says. 

Ian and Aimee turn to each other about things and people Harry's not familiar with so he drifts off and finds himself wandering around the edges of Nick's flat, looking at the pictures decorating the walls. The ones that are hung aren't personal; he finds Mick Jagger, and Grace Jones and so many other musicians scattered in between crosses and various other random pieces, including a large, antique map of Africa. The personal photos are on Nick's desk, crowded together, tucked into the sides of the mirror sitting on top. Harry feels not a little bit creepy the way he can recognize all of Nick's friends that he hasn't even met yet, just from following Nick on Instagram. 

"Aims scare you off?" Nick asks, coming up behind Harry and setting a hand on his back. Harry wants to lean into it but given what just happened he opts to just look over at Nick. Nick hands him a drink, ice clinking merrily in the glass. Harry takes a sip, not really caring what it is. There's a butterfly in a frame sitting on the desk, framed and sitting mixed into all the photos, so Harry focuses on that instead. 

"No, she's fine," Harry said. "Just wanted to explore, I guess." There's a lit candle on the table, a different one than he'd kept in his X Factor dressing room. The cut flowers on the table are still the same. "I like your candles." 

Nick laughs, eyes dancing from this close. "Thank you. I make them myself, sell them on Etsy." 

Harry knows he's joking, because he's seen the boxes, but it doesn't matter, because what really matters is that Nick's sitting here and joking with him at all. "I'll have to buy a few of them, boost that poor BBC salary." 

"Should be going the other way, I think," Nick says. "But I'll tell the girls to back off until after we eat." Nick's hand moves up to Harry's shoulder again. "Get that down you and I'll introduce you around. No one bites." 

~*~ 

Harry ends up sitting next to Nick, sandwiched between him and _Daisy Lowe_ , which is probably about ten teen fantasies come to life, so he pours most of his concentration into not making an idiot of himself while eating and makes it through the meal. Nick seems to realise that he's maybe a bit overwhelmed so he covers as much as he can, and keeps Harry from having to talk too much about his future plans since he really doesn't know what's going to happen himself. All he knows for sure is that he wants to move to London permanently and he wants to keep singing past the X Factor tour, and he wants to keep being Nick's friend. 

Somewhere around nine, Nick cracks open a new bottle of wine and the party turns from a roast dinner into a proper party, with drinks and music and Nick kicks everyone out at ten, citing an early bedtime. Aimee's putting on her coat and making rounds of the room saying goodbye when she comes back to Harry. She leaves a big lipstick smear on his cheek before asking, "How long are you in town? We didn't really get a chance to talk." 

"A few more days.” Harry says. "They've got us doing a bunch of meetings before Christmas, and I'll go back home for that." 

"If you haven't got anything for lunch tomorrow, let me take you out. We'll talk." 

"Sure," Harry agrees. "Would love to." 

Aimee's the last one out the door, trailing Ian, and then it's just Harry in his coat in Nick's hallway. Pig's shuffling around at his feet so he bends to pet her first, letting her lick his face a bit before getting his hand in the way and getting her to stop. 

"You can't spoil her like that," Nick says. He's kicked off his shoes and socks and is now in just his bare feet, the small change making him look about twenty times more casual and dressed down and relaxed even though he's in the exact same clothes. He's slumped over a bit more, too now that there's no one else around to impress. Harry isn't sure how to feel about that, since he wants Nick to want to impress him. But then again, "She'll get a complex." 

"She loves me," Harry says, and Pig licks his hand again as if proving his point. He stands up and straightens his coat. "I guess I should go, then."

"You can stay if you want," Nick says with a shrug. "Just don't complain when my alarm wakes you up at quarter past five." 

"I've got a bed at my sister's. Well. A sofa at least." Harry wants to stay, so he's not sure exactly why he's protesting, except that he sort of feels like he should. "I'm getting better at sleeping on it."

"I've got a better bed than that," Nick says, before turning bright red. "I mean. I just. Don't really like sleeping alone." 

Harry laughs, smile cracking his face. "Yeah, alright. Not really bothered with alarms anyway." 

"You aren't, are you?" Nick says, disappearing back into his bedroom. Harry follows, shrugging off his coat again. "You don't have to go to sleep right now, if you don't want. You can go watch telly but it's past my bedtime and I've got work in the morning." 

"I could probably sleep," Harry says. He's wound up pretty tight, but falling asleep has never actually been a problem for him. "Don't want to wake you up anyway." 

Nick goes through to the ensuite and digs around in a drawer until he comes out with a spare toothbrush which he hands over before reaching for his. "You want to borrow a shirt?" 

Harry just grins at him, because Nick knows he won't do anything of the sort. They'd caught him in bed with nothing on many times in the house, though thankfully they'd only shown the footage once on Xtra. Nick had been sitting next to him on the sofa and Harry'd had to hide his face in Nick's shoulder to avoid having to look at anyone or anything other than the fabric under his cheek. 

Instead, he lets Nick use the sink first and goes to undress, folding his shirt and scarves nicely in a stack under the bedside table that doesn't have all of Nick's chargers plugged in. He helps himself to a glass of water from the kitchen and gets one for Nick just in case, and waits, shivering in just his boxers, until Nick's done in the bathroom. 

When Nick comes out he looks at Harry for about two seconds before looking away and fiddling with his phone charger. "Bathroom's all yours." 

Harry doesn't bother closing the door while he brushes his teeth and washes his face, scrubbing at the waxy red lipstick Aimee had left behind and he pretends not to watch Nick pull his shirt off and peel his jeans down his endless legs. Something to save in his memory for later, when he has a moment and several closed doors between himself and his sister in her flat. He doesn't close the door until he has to piss, and when he does he apparently misses Nick climbing into bed and settling down propped up against at least three massive pillows, bare shoulders and chest sticking out of the fluffy duvet. 

He maybe fiddles with his pile of clothing longer than he needs to when he comes back out. Climbing into bed with Nick is sort of at the top of a long list of things he'd like to do every day if he could. 

"You don't have to sleep in here, you know," Nick says. "The sofa's pretty comfortable, and I've got a spare duvet in the cupboard." He sounds a bit tense, like he's not sure of the situation, now that they're here, both in just their boxers, sharing a bed without talking about any of it. 

Harry rubs at the back of his neck, unsure. "Sure? I mean. I don't mind sharing. But — if you'd rather —" 

"Oh for fuck's sake, just get in," Nick says, seemingly recovered from whatever it was. He pulls back the duvet, and Harry climbs in, careful to stick to his side with all his limbs. "If Pig tries to kick you off the bed, do the same to her. She's not really allowed." 

Harry laughs, because he's seen all the pictures, but promises that he will. 

"And you're not allowed to get mad at my alarm, you agreed to this." Nick switches off his lamp, plunging them into darkness except for the light of his phone screen which hasn't gone to sleep yet. 

Harry settles in, too, pulling the covers up to his chin and punching at the pillows until he's comfortable. "Goodnight," Harry mumbles, half asleep already. 

Nick chuckles, low and soft, like he can hear it in Harry's voice. "Goodnight, Harold." 

Harry doesn't even wake up when Nick's alarm goes off. 

~*~ 

Aimee's chosen a little place in Camden for lunch and she's there and waiting by the time Harry and Nick walk in. She stands up to hug both of them and then gives Nick a _look_ that makes him turn red and shake his head at whatever she thinks is happening. Harry has a decent guess, since he is in one of Nick's shirts at the moment, and he wishes that there was something there. Something more substantial than a shared bed and a loaned shirt. 

They order drinks and food and Harry tries not to look too hard at the prices, but picks something out on the cheap end, even if asparagus isn't his favorite thing. 

He's not sure how this meeting is supposed to go, since right now it's just Nick moaning that Aimee's abandoned him and his family at Christmas to spend it with Ian's family in Wales. 

"Come off it, you're going to the country this year, Grim." 

"With Alan Carr," Nick says, curling up his lip. "I love him but he ain't family." 

"What about you, Harold. Any exciting plans for the holidays?" 

"Just going home, I guess," Harry says. "Probably go to the match on Boxing Day." 

"You a football fan? I feel like I should have known this before now." Nick says, swirling the straw in his glass. 

Harry shrugs. "Sort of? It's more to see my dad than anything else, since me and Gem usually spend Christmas day with mum and Robin." 

"So what about after?" Aimee asks. "Any plans?" 

This is it, then, the transition from friendly lunch into business proposals. "Don't know yet. I'll be back in London, second half of the January for tour things before we start. And Simon's made an offer for after that but I don't know." 

"What did he offer?" 

Harry had sat down with the proposal after the meeting and even though the numbers had refused to settle down in his brain, the confidentiality clause was clear as anything. "A lot," he says. “Said he'd take care of everything." 

Aimee takes a sip of her drink and meets Harry's eye. "The question is, do you want him to?" 

Harry's confusion must show on his face, because he hadn't really considered that side of it. The show had been a lot of work, but the work was mostly dictated by others. He doesn't know any other way to do it. 

"Say you sign with Simon," Aimee continues. "He hands you an advance, a flat, a management team, a record that's already planned out, clothes to wear for the next three years. He's got something planned for you, I'm sure. Some cozy popstar life that's just waiting for someone to step in and fill those shoes. This year, it's you. Six years ago that was Olly Murs. And it worked out well enough for him. You can do that, if you want. I can't match him with money and a set recording deal. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go that way." 

Harry looks at Nick, who is texting someone and pretending not to pay attention to the conversation, like this is a private business meeting that he's not part of. The money from Simon's offer is attractive, and there's no doubt he can back up his promises to have Harry drop an album within the year. 

"The thing with Simon's gambles is that they hardly ever pay off. How many X Factor winners in the last ten years can you name off the top of your head? Leona, and Little Mix. It's the same with American Idol. Everyone knows Kelly Clarkson, but no one remembers Kris Allen. He won the year Adam Lambert was on and lost. I want you to be Adam." 

"How do you mean?" 

"The thing about glitter from last night is just an example. What I really want is for you to be able to sit down and decide what you want. I can't give you a flat and an album and wait for you to just show up. I can get you gigs, and I can get you introductions. I've got some pals who want to write for you, but ultimately it'll be your call what you want to do with that. You'll get a lot more control over your future even if there might not be as much money coming in." 

"I don't know what to say yet," Harry says. "I don't know who I want to be." 

"We can take some time to figure that out, too. No one expects you to step in and sell out arenas right away. I think we could get there, though." She reaches across the table and takes Harry's phone, then hands it back so he can unlock it for her. "Just think about it, talk to your mum, talk to Nick, just call me in a few days." 

"Is the boring meeting part over?" Nick asks. "Because Justin Bieber has gone crazy again." He loops an arm around Harry's shoulder and holds out a video on his phone and presses play. 

~*~ 

When Harry makes it back to Gemma's flat just before dinner time, she's just getting home and taking off her scarf and jacket. 

"Not spending the night at Grimmy's again?" she asks, a wicked smirk on her face. 

Harry turns bright red and busies himself taking off his jacket and scarf. Gemma sees the shirt and gives him a look. "Shut up." 

"I'm your older sister, it's my right to take the piss. And also to know what happened, so I'll make us some tea and then you can tell me everything." 

He goes to use the toilet while Gemma sets the kettle on, taking his time and fussing with his hair instead of going back out to face his sister. He's never been good at keeping things from her, and well, this both is and isn't a big thing. They really just slept, but also he's got one of Nick's _best friends_ offering to manage him, which is huge. 

Gemma hands over tea and they sit on opposite sides of the sofa, fighting each other for leg room while Olivia dives for both their toes. 

Harry is just about to get into the story when his phone buzzes two times in quick succession. The first is from Nick, telling him that he'd given Harry's number to Mairead, and asking when Harry was going back up to Holmes Chapel, and the second is from Mairead. 

_Got your number off Grim, would love to meet with you if you're around the next few days. Dinner tomorrow?_

He quickly replies to Nick, just a _thanks_ and a _I'll be around for another few days I think_ , and puts off answering Mairead until he tells Gemma what's been happening. 

"Aimee's offer isn't as much money, but it will be more personal. And now Mairead wants a meeting. Nick warned me there'd be a fight." 

Gemma pokes him with her toes, and Harry takes a sip of his now-tepid tea. "What do _you_ want to do? You've got the fans to back up whatever your choice. They're all over my twitter asking me about you." 

"Sorry," Harry says, but hides a smile in his mug. 

"Don't lie," Gemma says, catching on. "I know you love it, and I love it because you do. All I'm saying is that you don't have to follow the money." 

"I know that," Harry says. "That's not why I went on X Factor." 

"Yeah, I know. You went to meet Grimmy. And now you're sleeping in his bed and coming home in his clothes, so spill." 

"Nothing happened? It was late and I was a bit drunk and he doesn't like sleeping alone. That's all." Harry picks at a loose thread on his knee; he really should get some new jeans soon, these are going to fall apart any minute, but they're comfortable. 

"Just sleeping doesn't explain why you've only just come back for dinner, and why you're in his shirt. A proper walk of shame means you come back in the same thing you wore out." 

"I met with his friend, and he offered a clean shirt for it," Harry shrugs. "Nothing happened." 

"But you want it to, right?" 

Harry shifts in his seat, and Gemma laughs at him, which is what she does best. 

"Does he, do you think?" 

"I don't know. He knows I fancy him but he acts like i'm just one of his friends? So he's probably not interested." 

"Maybe you should just try it on with him. Has he got any mistletoe up in his flat?" 

Harry has a flash of how that could go. He hadn't noticed any last night, but he could always bring one over and tape it up over the entrance to the kitchen while Nick is distracted with Pig. Offer a cup of tea and then hover in the doorway until Nick comes over to check on it himself, like he doesn't believe anyone else can properly work a perfectly normal kettle. Catch his hip as he tries to move through … maybe he should stop thinking about this while sitting on a sofa that's about to cave in with his _sister_. He goes red again. 

"No," he mutters, and gets up to go make more tea and use the toilet. 

Gemma comes up behind him just after the kettle switches off and holds out her mug, too, before squeezing him tight around the waist. "Signing with his friends would definitely help your plan to seduce him." 

Harry steps on her foot by 'accident' as he moves to get the tea bags out, then remembers that he hasn't actually answered his texts from Mairead yet. 

_I'm in London until wednesday with my sister. Dinner tomorrow is good._

~*~ 

The trains are late, so by the time Harry shows up at the restaurant, he's escorted straight to a table at the back where he finds Nick, with Arlo in his lap, talking to Mairead. 

Nick sees him first and smiles, wide and soft. "Fancy running into you here." 

"Maybe I should just hire you as my manager, since you're coming to all my meetings," Harry says, leaning down to give Nick a one armed hug, since he's a bit too occupied to stand up. 

"I asked him to come," Mairead says. She stands up to give Harry a hug. "Needed a babysitter and he's always up for it." 

"That last part's true," Nick says, winking. 

Harry bites his lip and tries not to blush too much. He's not sure how well it works, though. 

Over cocktails they talk about everything but the reason they're at dinner. Mairead brags about having done her christmas shopping already while Nick whines about still having to go to the shops. Harry tells them about his fight with the producers over keeping his James Bay audition song in his setlist. It's not until they're halfway through their main course that Mairead turns the conversation to business. 

"I spoke to a few friends of mine at Island," she says, swirling her glass of wine. Harry puts down his silverware so he can concentrate on the meeting part of the evening. "They want to bring you in, test you out with a few different producers and see what happens. It's not a full record yet, but probably an EP in the next few months." 

"I can't officially do anything until March." 

Mairead waves her hand. "They're willing to wait. The trick of the business is really finding what fits you best. Take Florence. She couldn't sing Little Mix songs if she tried." 

Nick laughs. "I'm going to tell her you said that." 

"She can sing them, sure. But no one would believe her singing them, because they're not hers." 

"She covered Bieber," Nick argues. 

"Are you actually his manager?" Mairead asks. "Stop interrupting my pitch." She turns back to Harry. "The point I'm trying to make without the extra commentary, is that if you take your time and get it right, you could be big. And not just a flash in the pan. Remember Liam Payne?" 

Harry nods. He'd met Liam, five years ago, the first time he'd been on X Factor. He'd won the competition, had a best selling album and sold out tour of the UK and Europe, and then had flopped on the second one. "He was good, I don't know what happened." 

"No one believed what he was singing, is what," Mairead says. "He had so much potential, but they pushed his sound and his image in entirely the wrong way. Everyone says people are stupid, but they're not. They can tell when they're being fed a line. That's what happened to him." 

Nick refills Harry's wine, which had been nearing empty, as he'd sipped it for something to do while Mairead was talking. "Nick told me Simon made you an offer, right?" Harry nods. "If you go with him, he'll have you in the studio right after new year, he'll have an album laid out already, and you'll make a lot of money." 

"That's what Aimee said." 

"She's right. There's no shame in taking that path, if you want it. Maybe he'll hit on a gold mine and get it right with you. But I don't want to gamble. It might be a slower climb, but I think if we take our time and get your music right first, we can get you there in the end." 

Harry nods, thinking it through. There's nothing on paper to study, since he's technically not supposed to be taking these meetings until he turns down Simon, but he's pretty sure he can call it a dinner with friends, since Nick's here, and he does count Nick among his friends these days. 

"Think it over, call me if you want to ask more questions, and we'll talk after the new year, yeah? You'll be back in London, I hope?" 

"Yeah," Harry says. "We're all moving back into the contestant's house for a few weeks before the tour, since we have rehearsals and stuff." 

"Give me a call when you get back, then." 

With the business portion of the night done, Nick joins the chat again, and Harry settles back to listen to the two of them, since they've known each other for ages. It's a mix of updating each other on different people they know but haven't seen, telling Harry old stories and trying to embarrass each other, and making plans for later. 

Mairead waves off both Nick and Harry's attempts to contribute to the bill, calling it a business expense, and they all go outside. Harry zips up his coat and waits for Nick's taxi to say goodbye before going back to the tube to get to Gemma's, but Nick apparently has other plans. 

"Want to come back to mine? You look a bit confused." 

Harry narrows his eyes at Nick, trying to think of a comeback, but in the end he caves, because Nick is right, he's got three offers on the table, unofficially, and he has no idea how to even sort things out. Especially between Mairead and Aimee. "Yeah, sure." 

He climbs into the back of the taxi with Nick and tries not to press too close. It really isn't that crowded with just the two of them. 

~*~ 

Harry hovers in the doorway while Nick lets Pig out into the back garden for a wee, and then stands out there with his arms bundled around him trying to get her to do it so they can come in again, and waits. Eventually Pig does what she's supposed to do, and Nick comes back inside and takes off his jacket, laying it over the back of one of the chairs at the table. 

"Sit down, Harold," Nick says. "Make yourself at home. You want some tea?" 

Nick switches on the radio and tunes into Radio 1 before switching on the kettle and starting the routine to make them both tea. He knows how Harry takes it, now, and makes him a perfect cup before coming back out to sit on the sofa opposite the telly. 

Harry sits across from him and leans back into the comfortable cushions. 

"What are you thinking?" Nick asks. 

Harry sips his tea and tries to get his thoughts together. It's not like doing a presser, where he knows what they want to hear and how to say it, that had been the easiest thing to adapt to, being on the show. This is Nick, and he wants an honest answer so he can honestly help Harry out. 

"I don't know," Harry says. "I don't know what's on offer and I'm not even supposed to be meeting with anyone anyway. Simon was already pissed at you that I didn't say yes to him right away. And I don't even know what I want. I just want to live in London and sing. Why do I even need a manager? I'm sure I can handle a diary myself."

"Is that what you want, though?" Nick asks. "Close your eyes, imagine you're two years in the future, you're a massive successful popstar because of me, what's your favorite thing about your life?"

"Being on stage," Harry answers without thinking. It's the easiest question he's ever been asked. "I love people watching me, love the rush I get from singing for hundreds of people at a time." 

"Perfect." Nick taps his knee a few times. "Eyes stay closed. Next question: we experimented a lot with your sound on the show, do you know what you like best?" 

Harry bites his lip and thinks about it for a second. The answer doesn't come quite as easily this time, but it's there. "I think so," he says, slowly. "I loved doing the classic rock a lot. Fleetwood Mac, Rolling Stones. Performing with Ronnie Wood was amazing. Could I do that again? Bring him on the road with me? My opening act. Do you think he'd take fruit salad as payment?" 

Nick laughs, eyes crinkled up with his smile. It's Harry's favorite look on him, really. Loves it even more when he's the one who puts it there. "So your priority is performing, then, and you know what type of music you want to be singing. After that it comes down to fashion choices." 

"Fashion?" Harry asks, confused. 

"Well, there's Simon's signature high waist jeans and white shirts. And I _think_ you could pull it off, but it's not your best look." 

"It's nobody's best look," Harry agrees. 

"After that, you've got Mairead. If you fancy the runway peasant look. Flowers and organza. That sort of thing." 

"And she's got Arlo." 

"He's very cute, so that's a plus, I'd say." Nick stops to consider it. "Might not be at his best in a studio with lots of expensive fiddly bits of equipment around, but that's Mairead's problem, not yours." 

"A perfect solution." Harry bites at his finger. "But what about the glitter Aimee promised?" 

"Well then, that's your choice, isn't it? Glitter or a baby. Probably also spandex. Maybe a pair of stilettos, but only on special occasions. Glasto, maybe. On stage, not in the mud. Not even Mossy could manage a nice pair of heels at Glasto." 

"You think I could play Glastonbury someday?" 

"Of course I do," Nick says, serious for just a moment. "Did you think I kept putting you though for your face?" 

"So you're saying is my face is terrible." 

"I'm saying you have a very important decision to make." 

Harry groans and covers his face with his hands. He's had too much wine to do this. "Do I have to?" 

"Of course not. Come over here so we can be responsible adults and put off important life decisions while watching the Simpsons. Can't see a thing from over there." 

~*~ 

The next thing Harry knows is Nick is shaking his shoulder, leaning over him from the back of the sofa. 

"You'll wreck your back like that," Nick says. "Come on, come to bed." 

Harry lets Nick pull him to his feet and stumbles after him into the bedroom. He kicks off his boots and jeans and shirt, too tired to bother folding them. Brushing his teeth is about as much brainpower as he can manage, but he does it and then tucks himself into Nick's bed and waits. 

After what feels like forever, Nick comes in, too. He's warm and soft a blurry outline in the light of his phone and nothing else once he switches the lights off. Harry isn't exactly cold, but it's lonely on his side of the bed, so as soon as Nick puts down his phone Harry burrows down a bit more into the covers and slides closer. He's awake enough to know he should drag his own pillow over, which is what he does, but he also slides a knee over Nick's and curls around his side, fully expecting Nick to shove him off. 

Instead, the last thing Harry remembers is Nick sighing deeply and settling more firmly into the bed.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Harry's train is booked for ten, which means he has to leave Nick's before he gets home from work, and leave enough time to get back to Gemma's and pack his things before they get to the train. Mostly, it means Harry has to be up a lot earlier than he would choose to be. In the end, he doesn't really go back to sleep when Nick leaves, just lets Pig up on the sofa with him and cuddles her until she whines and moves to the door, wanting to go out. Harry lets her into the back garden and gathers up his things. 

Gemma waits until he's held hostage before attacking. Or, she holds off on asking Harry questions about what he's been doing all week until they're on the train, and the train is moving, and there's absolutely no question of him finding another seat somewhere because it seems that every single one is occupied. 

"You've been spending a lot of time with Grimmy," she says, like she knows everything already. "That's his shirt isn't it? I don't recognise it." 

"I could have bought it during X Factor," Harry says. "You wouldn't know it." It's not true, it's definitely Nick's shirt. It smells like him still, though that's not going to last long. 

"You didn't, though. You stole one of Grimmy's shirts." 

Harry laughs. "I'll give it back." Probably. He quickly outlines the rest of his week for her, speaking softly so he's not overheard. "Or Aimee can, since I'm going to take her offer. I should probably call and tell her that." 

"Yes, of course you should," Gemma agrees, and stares at him until he picks his phone up off the tray table in front of him. 

After flipping through his contacts and messages, Harry realizes that he doesn't actually have Aimee's number. So he texts Nick instead. 

_Wanted to txt aimee the good news but don't have her number. Can you send it to me please?_

Harry gets a reply less than two minutes later. As he's saving the number to his contacts, Nick texts again. 

_What are you doing for christmas day?_

_Nothing I don't think. Gem's leaving us for a wedding so we've moved christmas a day early._

A bright, burning hope opens up as Harry tries to come up with reasons Nick would be asking him about his Christmas plans, and Harry freezes, waiting for Nick's WhatsApp status to flip to _typing_.

_Come to ours. Eileen always makes too much food and Aims is abandoning me to be Ian's wife in Wales._

Having the actual invitation sitting in his messages is more than Harry was prepared for. The slim possibility turning into reality sets of a supernova inside his ribcage. 

"It must be quite an offer for you to look like that," Gemma says. "Close your mouth you look like a knob." 

Harry blinks a few times to bring himself back to the present instead of the very near future. "It's not Aimee, it's Nick. He's invited me for Christmas." 

She grabs the phone from his hand and looks at the short conversation. "You're going to meet his _parents_ ," she says, feet almost kicking in glee. "Wait until I tell mum." 

He takes back his phone and texts back a quick, _I'd love to_ , before stuffing it in his pocket. The thing is, Harry's met Eileen already. And Liv. Both had been around during different weeks on X Factor. He'd liked Liv a lot, and Eileen was a legend as it was. But everyone had had their family in for the show. Being invited to Nick's _home_ to _meet his parents_ is different somehow. It feels bigger. It feels like everything Harry had daydreamed when he'd filled out his application form. 

Except … in his daydreams he'd done more than just pass out on Nick's sofa by the time he'd been invited for a formal dinner with Nick's parents. Nick's his mentor, and friend, and the invitation had sounded like he takes people home with him all the time. Harry is probably just the newest, shiniest toy in the box. 

And if so, he's going to enjoy it all the same. 

~*~ 

They've just finished opening presents and having Christmas (Eve) brunch when Harry's phone starts going off in his pocket. Everyone's occupied, so it should be fine for Harry to pull his phone out to check who's texting. 

_Do you drive?_ Nick's asked. 

Harry has gotten permission to go to Nick's for his Christmas dinner on actual Christmas tomorrow, but he hasn't thought about getting there. Oldham's an hour's drive away. 

_Yes but I don't have a car._ Maybe he could borrow his mum's. 

It's less than twenty seconds before Nick texts him back. _Don't worry I'll come get you._

Harry has to bite his cheek to hide his smile, but from the look Gemma is giving him from across the room, he's not very successful at it. 

~*~ 

The first thing Harry notices about Nick's family Christmas is that it's _loud_. He's met Eileen before, she'd come down a few weekends for X Factor, but there's more than just Nick's parents. There's his brother and sister and their partners and their kids, and everyone is yelling at each other and smiling as Harry follows Nick's lead and hangs up his coat by the door. 

"We're back!" Nick shouts into the chaos, which quiets for about two seconds, just long enough for them to get their coats off. 

Nick introduces him around; Jane, Andrew, Eileen (she hugs Harry), Pete (who calls Harry Henry), Liv (who barely looks up from her phone) and Shae (same as Liv).

"You want a drink?" Jane asks. "We've got everything and then some, I think. And mum's made some mulled wine if you're cold and desperate." 

"It's not that bad!" Eileen calls back from what Harry thinks is the kitchen. He's only really made it to the living room so far. 

Harry looks at Nick, a little bit unsure. 

"I'll get us a few beers," he says. "Go on sit down. Liv's not stopped talking about you since I said you were coming. Begged to come with me she did." 

A pillow comes flying at Nick's head, and he only barely manages to duck in time so it hits the far wall harmlessly. Harry grins, and Nick grins back before shoving him in the direction of the sofa, where there's a free space. Shae tosses him a video controller. "Want to play?" 

By the time he gets back with two beers for the two of them, Harry's absorbed in a game of FIFA which he is spectacularly losing. It doesn't help his concentration when Nick sits down in the empty spot next to him, crossing his legs and leaning over just enough to make Harry notice him with every inch of skin he has. For all that Nick's been a constant presence in his life for months now, he somehow feels so much closer in this moment. In Nick's family house, on Christmas day. 

If Harry takes too much more time to think about it he's going to run around in circles, even if only in his mind. 

~*~ 

Nick seats himself next to Harry at dinner, too. It's a cacophony, everyone talking over each other, with Nick still managing to boom out over everyone. It's not quite the polished radio voice Nick uses when he's on air, or judging on X Factor. It's a bit more rough, more of a northern accent, more cursing, even though Eileen tuts at him every other time he does it. 

Harry chats to Olivia and Jane, telling them about how crazy his life's been since auditioning. 

"Did you really audition because you fancied our Nicky?" Jane asks, her voice every bit the teasing older sister tone Harry knows from Gemma. 

He can't help the flush that creeps up his neck at the question. Nor can he help looking over at Nick, busy explaining something to Andrew and Pete, fork in hand. 

"Oh my god, he still does," Liv says, grinning like mad behind a hand, because she'd still been chewing. 

"You think a few months with Nick would cure him of that," Jane says. 

"OI!" Nick says without turning around from his own conversation. "Leave my boy alone." 

Liv and Jane and Shae dissolve into giggles and when Harry turns to look at Nick, whose neck is slightly more red than it should be. Harry bites his lip to keep in a comment about how they're just made for each other, but he can't stop himself from thinking it. 

~*~ 

There's dessert and then drinks once dinner is finished, and then Nick is shaking Harry's shoulder gently where he'd started to doze off on the sofa where they'd turned on Doctor Who.

"Do you want me to take you home? Or you can stay here and I'll take you home tomorrow." 

Harry just blinks at him. Nick's voice sounds kind and warm and he's smiling softly at Harry, but that's about all that Harry can comprehend. The wine and full stomach have made him so sleepy that he's fallen asleep as a guest in someone else's house. Luckily no one else is paying attention because they're either watching telly (now Eastenders) or are on their phones. 

Nick laughs softly and grabs Harry's hand. "Come on, up to bed with you. You can borrow a shirt in the morning." 

Harry's too sleepy and cozy to argue so he levers himself to his feet and follows Nick up the stairs and down the corridor until they're in Nick's room. It's different to his bedroom back in London, less modern design and more homey comfort. The stripey wallpaper is faded, but most of it is littered with album covers, of which Harry only recognizes a few. Alanis Morissette and Lauryn Hill are easy to find. The Sex Pistols, which Harry has up in his own room back home. There's a classic Rolling Stones poster in one corner next to a poster of David Beckham. Personal pictures tacked up in between the posters. Harry can see the bare bones of Nick's flat in here, which isn't surprising. This is where Nick grew up. He wonders vaguely what remnants of Nick's childhood are still lingering in drawers or tucked away in the closet. 

"Come on," Nick says, guiding Harry towards the bed. "Take your jeans and shoes off at least, then you can sleep." 

Harry does what he says and lets himself sink back into the pillows. He's aware of Nick moving away as he bundles himself up under the blanket, but he remembers that he needs to tell Nick thank you for inviting him over today. For letting him stay and take Nick's bed. For, well, everything since August. He's not sure how clear the words are as he mumbles them into his pillow, but Nick laughs, and says something back and then the door clicks shut. 

~*~ 

It's another two weeks before Harry's back in London. He meets up with Johnny, back from his year abroad in Australia, and they head into Manchester for New Year's Eve, meeting up with some of their school friends and uni friends, and Harry's asked to take so many pictures with girls in the club that he nearly misses midnight. 

He kisses Johnny square on the mouth at the end of the countdown because that's always what he does. Mostly because they're both single and it makes Johnny go bright red every time, even though they've been doing this since they were about fourteen. 

It's not who he'd have liked to be kissing. 

He's been talking to Aimee, planning their first meeting to start planning for after the tour. For his _career_. 

She invites him for lunch the day before tour rehearsals start. He's running late, so by the time he gets there he finds that she's not alone at the table: Nick's there too, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other, looking tan for real, and not like he's just had a spray tan, which is what Harry's used to seeing. If Harry maybe stumbles a tiny bit walking over, it's just that he's clumsy and it has nothing to do with how fucking _good_ Nick looks right now. 

Harry hugs both of them and sits down, wondering for just a minute when this became his life: lunch in private members clubs with Nick off Radio 1 and his closest friend who is now Harry's _manager_. 

"I thought this was a business lunch," Harry says, ten minutes later when they're still passing around photos from their holidays in Miami and Belize. It's not only that he's jealous, it's just that he doesn't know what to expect from anything right now, and it's stressing him out. 

Nick waves a hand. "This is very important business. Aimee could have come to Belize and decided not to. I have to make her regret her choices, because they're terrible choices." 

"Fuck off, I was working," she says. "But we can do this later if you've got somewhere to be, Harry?" 

Harry shrugs. "Not really? I told Seann I'd be back for tea, since I just got back yesterday." 

"That's ages away. Even for me," Nick says. "Did I show you these sharks? Fifi thought she was going to be eaten alive if she got in the water." 

In the end, they don't get around to discussing business until after their lunch plates have been cleared away. 

"What's your situation with Simon?" Aimee asks. "How much time did he give you to think things over?" 

"Tomorrow's the deadline," Harry tells her. "I keep stalling on giving him an answer, but we've been told he's going to come and give some speech about the tour tomorrow. I'll tell him then." 

"And what comes after? What's in the option agreement from the show?" 

"No recording contract for three months after the show's over, but managers aren't included in that." Harry had made sure to go back over his original contract over the holidays. "I'll get you a copy." 

"Perfect. I'll put together the papers and we can officially get started this week. I'll give you a few days to figure out what's going on with the tour and shit, and then we can start getting down to it." 

"Tell me what you have planned?" 

Aimee pulls out her phone and starts looking at something, frowning at it and typing a few things in before she looks up again. 

"If you're up for it, I think I can get you on stage as soon as next week. Nothing huge, but a friend's got an opening next week, their opening act cancelled, I said I'd talk to you." 

Next to Aimee, Harry can see a smile creeping up Nick's face as he and Aimee talk, and Harry leans back in his chair, letting it all wash over him. This is really happening. 

~*~ 

The first two days back at X Factor are both the same and different to what he remembers from before Christmas. He spends the first few days getting re-fitted with new clothes for both his own set and the group performances, getting all of his sound equipment tested to be sure everything's still in working condition after not being used for a few weeks, and filling out questionnaires for his part of the souvenir tour book. 

After a full first day, Harry is ready to go back to the house and collapse, but instead he's separated out from the cars going back and ushered into a taxi to go meet Simon, and he knows that this is it. He's only got minutes left if he's going to change his mind. But he thinks about lunch with Aimee and Nick, and how nice that had felt, having a hand in choosing everything that's going to happen rather than being shuttled between places and things to do. He's made the right decision, he's sure of it. 

Simon is sitting on a white sofa in the middle of the open half of the office, a cigarette in his hand and a stack of papers on the table in front of him. Is he expecting Harry to say yes, after all this time? He doesn't tell Harry to sit, so Harry stands in front of him and fights with his instinct to slouch and shift his feet like some sort of naughty schoolboy. 

"I trust you've had adequate time to look over my offer," Simon says without preamble. He takes a draw on his cigarette, moving without any sort of rush, which he has to know just makes Harry's urge to fidget worse. He stands his ground. "I do need an answer, though." 

It's still a tempting offer: a place to live in London after the tour's over, producers who want to work with him, a record slated for a Christmas release at the end of the year. It's generous and designed to tempt young artists, giving them everything they think they want. Harry does want all those things, but he wants the gigs Aimee's booking for him more. 

"I did," he tells Simon, straightening his spine. "I've thought a lot about it and while your offer is very generous, I'm going to have to say no." Harry fights to make it a statement rather than a question, drawing on every minimal bit of argument practice he'd had while getting his degree. 

"I'm prepared to offer you a better salary for the first year," Simon says. "I'd like to get you on my label. I believe we could do great things together." He hands over one of the papers that's in front of him, holding it out so Harry has to move to take it. He scans it quickly, marking the differences between what's on this new offer and the one he remembers from before. "I need an answer right now." 

Harry doesn't need the posh flat. Gemma will probably let him stay once he's off tour, while he looks for a place of his own. Or if her flatmate says no, Aimee won't let him be homeless.

"I still have to say no," Harry says, after what feels like he's spent an age reading the new offer. "I just think I have a different vision for my career." 

"Working your way up from the bottom is a myth," Simon says, tone turning. "It's about connections, always has been. I can give you that." 

"You already have," Harry says. "From X Factor. But I've thought about it a lot, and this is what I want. Thank you for the offer." 

Harry watches Simon's face harden into something more businesslike, focused and not exactly unhappy, but not happy either. Contempt, maybe. "There's restrictions on what you can do right now," he says. "You're under contract through the end of the tour." 

"I reviewed those provisions over the break as well. I'm fine with where things stand," Harry says. 

"Then I think we're done," Simon says, stubbing out the butt of his fag. "The car's waiting." 

Harry waves goodbye, not bothering to stick around for any sort of social nicety. 

He texts Aimee from the car. _It's done, are we facebook official yet?_

~*~ 

Harry takes a taxi over to Aimee's after he's done with X Factor things on Friday. He's barely had a spare second all week, between meetings with the production staff and music coaches and wardrobe. And they haven't even started the singing part of rehearsals yet. 

Ian answers the door, and invites Harry in where he collapses on the sofa because he almost literally can't make his legs work anymore. Not because they're tired, but because he just can't make any more decisions. 

"You look like you need a drink," Aimee says, handing over a glass. Harry takes a sip and finds that it's fruity and light and flammable, which is exactly what he wants right in this second. He doesn't ask what's in it, just downs about half of it in one go. 

"Easy," Aimee laughs. "Food's coming soon. Grim's bringing us dinner before we go out." 

Harry's heart does something at that news. He'd have thought that he'd be over it by now, but it's been a week since he saw Nick, and they haven't talked much. Not since Christmas; Harry's trying not to read too much into it. 

He takes another gulp of his drink instead. 

Aimee laughs again as she refills it. "At this rate we won't need to leave the house." 

"I'll be fine," Harry says, his voice slurring a tiny bit already. It's probably just the exhaustion. 

Nick brings over Greek food for dinner, and there's wine and beer and more of Aimee's killer cocktails (which aren't quite so deadly when balanced out by dolmas and moussaka) and then they're crowding into the back of a taxi, Harry squished in the middle between Nick and Ian, and heading out to Heaven where a friend of Aimee's is performing. It's one of the venues she's scoping out for Harry, too, so she wants to introduce him to a few people. 

Harry doesn't get carsick at all, never has, but having Nick right up against his side while he's warm from the food and drinks makes him feel some sort of way. His stomach is flipping over itself, and he just wants to hold on, but he's not sure if that's allowed. Instead, he moves his leg a bit, pretending that he's trying to get comfortable, and presses it against the length of Nick's thigh. He doesn't move away, and Harry considers it a victory. 

~*~ 

Inside the club, they're led into the VIP section, which is new to Harry. There's more room to spread out, a table reserved for them that's already got a few people sitting at it, a bottle of vodka in the center on ice. Harry's come up from Brighton lots of times to go to clubs, but he's never been anywhere like this. He'd always waited in line to get onto the crowded floor, ordered the cheapest drinks, and regretted it the next morning. 

Now, he slouches on the plush sofa and watches Nick pour shots of Grey Goose for everyone, passing them around as he does. He spills a bit out of one and then sticks his fingers in his mouth to lick it off before handing the shot over to Harry. 

"Cheers," Harry says, knocking it back right away, the way he'd seen everyone else do. 

"Introductions," Aimee says, appearing over Harry's shoulder. "That's Pix and George, you've met Daisy. Jack, Fifi, Becky and Gellz. Everyone, this is Harry off X Factor and fancying Grimmy." 

Everyone waves before going back to their conversations from before Aimee interrupted them. "Come on," she says to Harry. "Paul is backstage getting ready." 

Harry has to climb over Nick to get out, which is only a tiny bit awkward and doesn't at all make Harry want to just claim he's too tired and sit back in Nick's lap for the rest of the night. But he makes it and follows Aimee through the door at the back with just a polite nod to the security stationed at the door.

Paul turns out to be Lotta Stilletos, halfway to full made up glory when they make it back to the dressing room. 

There are air kisses, ("So I don't fuck up my face, it takes _ages_ , darling.") and a hand held out for Harry to kiss, which he does, flushing a bit. 

"Paul knows everyone," Aimee says. "He's a promoter by day. Paul this is Harry Styles, off X Factor." 

"You're better looking in person," Paul says. "Not that you were bad before, mind. I can see why Grimmy keeps you around." The makeup makes the eyebrow waggle even more exaggerated than it's supposed to be. "And you've got a voice. Get me in for his first proper gig, will you, Aims?" 

"I'll send you the details, we're still working on them. I've got him in for an opening spot with Jamie next week, though. Grant cancelled on her last minute. Something about how he doesn't think he fits with her creative vision." 

"He's a flake, I heard his agent is about to drop him. Send him crawling back to Leeds to start over." 

"Harry will be better anyway. He'll fit right in with her audience, I think. Which reminds me, Harry, we're meeting Jamie on Wednesday. She's said yes, but she still wants to meet you before the show." 

"Sure," Harry says. He's mostly just listening, since he doesn't know anyone involved in whatever drama is happening. 

Paul offers them drinks from the mini fridge, and they chat until there's a knock on the door and a twenty minute warning. 

"That's my cue to tell you to fuck off. Enjoy, and I'll come find you after. I've not seen Grim in ages." 

"You and half of London," Aimee says. "Could barely get him on the phone for months and you _know_ how much he likes to talk." 

After one more round of goodbyes they head back to their booth, where no one's sitting down, and everyone is dancing around the DJ in the corner who is someone else Aimee knows. The small knot of anxiety he's had since Monday when he officially turned Simon down is dissipating. Aimee knows the right people — everyone, apparently — and she'll really be able to do what she'd promised him she wanted to do. 

"Whatever you're thinking, stop it," Nick says. "It's the weekend, let your hair down." 

"Okay," Harry says, and reaches up to do just that. He grins at Nick and gets a wide grin back. 

"Cheeky." Nick pokes his cheek and Harry sways a bit, which just means Nick catches him with one of his giant hands on Harry's shoulder. "Are you sure you're allowed out without adult supervision?" 

"Fuck off," Harry says, not meaning it, and not moving away. Nick's hand is still on his shoulder, warming him more than the cloying air in the club. 

"How about I get you another drink instead," he says. "Anything you don't like?"

"Anything licorice flavored," Harry tells him. 

Nick moves off, and Harry pulls out his phone to take a picture of the dance floor, of all the people crushed together and moving like one giant beast. He sort of misses that blinding crush of bodies around him. It's less sweaty up here for sure, but Harry misses the contact, too. Wants something in the middle of the two, so when Nick returns with drinks Harry takes his and then turns so he can back up into Nick, lining up their hips and grinding a bit. 

"Dance with me," he says. 

~*~ 

There's a lot of flashing lights as they leave much, much later. Enough that it's disorienting when he's just trying to walk out and get into a taxi with his friends. He's almost used to the camera flashes by now, but it's late and he's more than a little bit pissed. 

Fortunately their taxi is waiting just across the pavement, and it's only a few steps to get there. Unfortunately, Harry's balance is crap at the best of times, so he grabs the nearest arm to keep himself upright. Fortunately, it turns out he's grabbed onto Nick, whose face swims into focus as he stops to let Harry catch his balance. He's smiling, small and fond, laughing at Harry while his feet that seem to have wandered away without him. 

With Nick's help he makes it into the taxi and pushes over until he's crowding Nick against the far window to make room for Aimee (who maybe doesn't need quite that much room, but it's polite and Nick doesn't seem to be protesting at all). He loses time on the drive, just watching the lights of the street pass by in different shaped blurs. Somewhere maybe halfway home (Harry's not to sure and time seems to be too fluid and shiny for him to track at the moment) he realises that he's still clutching Nick's arm like he's drowning, but Nick hasn't pushed him away. Harry doesn't fight his fingers, which seem perfectly happy with their death grip. 

Nick doesn't mention it until the taxi stops somewhere that must be one of their homes. 

"Are you going to let me go to bed?" he asks Harry. 

"Yes?" He's not sure why Nick's asking him that particular question. He is a fully grown adult and perfectly capable of going himself. He doesn't realise why Nick's asking until Nick shrugs and moves to get out of the taxi outside his flat and Harry gets pulled as well —, because he apparently still hasn't let go of Nick's arm, he should probably do something about it but it's too late now — until he's nearly spilling out of the taxi head-first. 

"Oh come on, then," Nick says, and sets to actually helping Harry deliberately move with him this time. 

Aimee asks something that Harry doesn't hear, but Nick responds and by now his mouth is right next to Harry's ear. 

"Don't worry, I won't break your new popstar," Nick says, before shutting the door and steering Harry over to the steps down to his flat. 

They move slowly, pressed up against each other and probably making a lot more noise than is acceptable for the hour, but no one comes out to yell at them, so it's probably fine. Maybe he should buy some flowers for the neighbours tomorrow. Just in case. He wants to come back here a lot and it's no good having the entire street hating him.

Nick's bedroom is just inside the door so it's easy for Nick to push Harry in and down onto the bed, and Harry just sinks into it and loosens up so Nick can remove his shoes and manhandle him under the duvet. 

"There's a bin just there if you need it," Nick says, smoothing Harry's hair back. 

Harry mumbles his thanks and also tries to tell Nick that he's not gotten sick just from drinking in ages, but he's fairly sure it gets lost in the pillow. 

~*~ 

The next thing Harry knows, he's sweating too much. He's under a duvet and still fully dressed except for shoes. His head is mostly okay so long as he doesn't actually move at all, but that's a lost cause because his bladder is pounding against the waistband of his jeans and it's very uncomfortable and he'd like to avoid pissing in the very fluffy and very warm bed he's currently cocooned in. Mostly because he wants to get right back into it, but also because he's conscious just enough to realize that it's not his tiny bunk in the X Factor house. 

He squints and makes out a sort-of familiar fluffy white duvet which means he'd fallen asleep in Nick's bed, after spending half the night grinding up against Nick whenever he could. The good news is that Nick hadn't pushed him away at all, just laughed and slung his hips into it. The bad news is that Harry also remembers Nick spending roughly forever grinding on Ian while Aimee tried to get decent pictures of Ian's face. 

Harry's calling it a win anyway. 

But also he really needs to get out of this bed, so he flops forward and out onto the floor and moves towards the toilet. He turns on the light and immediately regrets it, but manages to carry on with his mission to wee and brush his teeth (with the same toothbrush he'd used last time, dug out of a drawer. That Nick had _kept_ for him). Harry also manages to shed his jeans and socks before crawling back into the bed feeling only slightly like death warmed over. The duvet is greatly helping the _warm_ overtake the _death_. 

~*~ 

The next time Harry wakes up his head feels marginally better and the flat smells like coffee, so he falls out of bed and gathers his legs under him and moves towards the kitchen without bothering to put on his jeans. He's in his pants and shirt and that's perfectly acceptable for a hungover Saturday. He's justified when he finds Nick on the sofa in the same outfit, Pig curled up behind his knees. Something's playing on the telly and Nick points at the kettle and coffee maker without saying anything, seemingly very familiar with dealing with morning-afters. 

Harry settles on the opposite sofa, coffee balanced on his chest while he waits for it to cool enough to drink. 

"You okay?" Nick asks once Harry's about halfway through and starting to move a bit. "You hungry yet?" 

Harry stretches out, careful to keep the coffee from toppling over onto the white sofas. "I think so?" Harry thinks it over for a minute. "I could eat probably." 

"I'm going to go drown myself in the shower and then we can go to Greenberry. Nothing like a spice cake for a hangover." 

Pig moves over to Harry's sofa once Nick's gone, and he lets her jump up and settle on top of his thighs even though she's fairly heavy. It's comforting, to have something alive and warm on top of him. He's nearly asleep again before Nick comes back out, and Harry has no idea how much time has passed. 

"You'll want a shower too," he says, offering Harry a hand. "Spare towel's on the sink. And a toothbrush." 

"I haven't got any clothes," Harry says when he comes out some time later. "There may be a flaw in our plan to get brunch." Nick's got Radio 1 on, and Harry's wandering around with his hair dripping onto his shoulders and his towel around his waist. 

Nick looks at him and his face does something weird like he's trying to take everything in and avoid looking all at once. Harry knows what he looks like so he cocks his hip a bit to see what Nick will do. The answer is that he whips his eyes up to Harry's forehead even though he wasn't looking anywhere particularly incriminating, maybe his left shoulder. 

"You can borrow something," Nick tells him. "You don't have to ask every time." 

Which, Harry's not sure what to make of that. He's just been given free reign over Nick's wardrobe. Instead of gaping at Nick like he's just unveiled the secrets of the universe, he flees for the safety of Nick's bedroom, where he gets to pick out _anything he wants to wear_. 

He goes for pants first, which fit well enough since they're the same size more or less, then puts on his own jeans, because no one else's jeans ever fit him quite right. The wardrobe is stuffed full of tshirts and nicer shirts, and in the end Harry goes for one of Nick's collection, the short sleeved print blouse, over a plain shirt. 

By the time he gets his boots on and dries his hair a bit more, Nick's ready to go, and Pig's sulking around his feet because she knows the signs of him leaving. Harry gives her a pat on the head once he's bundled into his coat and scarf, and follows Nick out the door. 

~*~ 

Nick orders mimosas for both of them and then salmon eggs benedict for himself while Harry goes for a pancake and fruit. 

"So," Nick says. "You were quite into dancing last night." 

Harry can feel himself flush, which doesn't help the remnants of his headache. "It's a club, it's what you're supposed to do," he tells his glass. 

"I'm not talking about that, that was fine. Love getting attention from fit boys in clubs. Bit different when it's in my bed and he's halfway to passed out, though." 

Harry really has to look away from the table now, at the dreary rain that's moved in since they sat down. "Um. Sorry?" 

"You don't remember? You were singing Justin Bieber and trying to grind on me without moving. Mostly you just kicked me a bit." 

"Oh god," Harry groans. "I really am so sorry. You could have made me sleep on the sofa. Yours are comfortable." 

"The bed was closer, and I don't mind sharing." He pauses and rakes his eyes up to Harry's face before continuing. "Maybe just be awake next time." 

Harry can't quite tell if Nick's teasing him or if he's serious. He's definitely taking the piss, but Harry thinks there's a note of something in it, that maybe he wouldn't mind Harry trying it out for real. Harry doesn't think Nick would turn him down the first time Harry tried to make a move on him. It's the second time he's more worried about; Nick's reputation for relationships is pretty shit among his friends. Harry remembers Nick's last nighttime show, when everyone had basically ripped into him for pulling Diesel models. Multiple models. A casting, Henry had said. 

Just as Harry's trying to debate just laying everything on the line and _going_ for it, one of Nick's friends comes over to say hello and whatever was building just in this moment drains away. Harry checks his phone while Nick chats to Nadia, and finds about twenty texts from Gemma in the last ten minutes. 

_Something you want to tell me?_ She asks. She also sends a picture that must be from last night, leaving Heaven. There's a large group of people and security all mixing together on the pavement, but Harry can still see how tightly he's clutching at Nick's arm, remembers holding him like that all the way through the cab ride and into bed. It's the clearest thing he remembers from the whole night. 

_Nothing happened,_ Harry texts back. _I was drunk, he let me sleep it off and made sure I didn't die._ _We're having brunch now, got to go_. 

It's not really a lie, they are having brunch, but he doesn't feel like having this conversation with his sister by text while sitting across the table from a tired and emotional Nick. He's wearing glasses instead of contacts this morning and his hair isn't quite standing up in a full quiff, just looking a bit ruffled and soft. He looks less like Grimmy off Radio 1 and more like Nick, that weird guy in the flat down the street who loves music and has an adorable dog. 

He's more _real_ than he's ever been, layers of glossy celebrity finishing stripped away, just leaving the man himself. There's nothing really different to this morning, he's known Nick for months now, and he knows that what Nick presents to the radio is so vastly different to who he is at home, but somehow sitting across from him in glasses and an old jumper cements the image in Harry's head. He could do this every weekend. Just the two of them, their hangovers and some eggs. 

~*~ 

When they're finished, they walk home, shoulders brushing occasionally, and then collapse onto the sofas. Pig settles by Harry's feet and Nick turns on the telly before getting his phone out. Harry does the same only to find another ten messages from his sister, threatening to tell their mum if he doesn't tell her what's going on. 

_I'll come for tea tonight,_ Harry says. It would take too long to type out everything that's happened. 

Neither of them move for what feels like hours. Harry is content to browse Instagram and Twitter and scritch Pig's head when she starts whining. They don't talk; despite the filling breakfast Harry's still feeling a bit delicate. 

Some time later, Nick asks Harry what he wants for tea and Harry remembers to check the time so that he's not horrifically late getting over to Gemma's flat. It's a long ride from central London and Harry wants nothing more than to stay where he is, watching crap telly with Nick's feet in his lap and Pig settled between them, looking totally content. 

On his way out Harry notices a single photographer leaning on a wall at the end of the street, but he just carries on past him and over to Chalk Farm Road to get the trube. 

~*~ 

"So let me get this straight," Gemma says, pointing her chopsticks at him. "You danced with him all night, tried to dance with him _in bed_ , and then went to brunch but nothing's happened?" 

"It's not like that," Harry tells his sweet and sour pork. "Like. I still fancy him. He's fit. But he's not my celebrity crush anymore. I'd rather have him as a friend than as a one night stand." 

"If you say so," she says, knowingly. Harry really has got to cut her off at some point, she knows him too well. "I know you'd jump him if you had the chance." 

"Of course I would, I'm not stupid," Harry says. "I just want a second date. And maybe a third or fourth as well." 

"Oh _god_. This is much worse than just fancying him, isn't it?" 

Harry shrugs. "Just different. Ish. But he doesn't really do relationships I don't think, and he's been good for me, and his best friend is my new manager. So he's going to be around in my life for a while. As friends. It's fine." 

Gemma stares him down over her noodles. "Just — don't break your heart on him without telling him, okay? Promise me that much." 

Harry's not planning on doing either of those things, so he promises, leaning against her until she squawks at him and startles the cat. 

~*~ 

He ends up staying overnight at Gemma's before going home to the contestant's house mid-morning, before most of them are awake. Anton's making tea and half of Fourth Power are eating oatmeal but Harry just waves at them and goes up to his own room. He needs a shower, but he just crawls back into bed and passes out again. 

Seann wakes him up at lunch time, and they make sandwiches in the kitchen. Harry should change, he's been wearing this shirt for a full day now, but it's Nick's and he likes it, so it stays on, even after he and Seann collapse on the sofas with Lauren to watch Pitch Perfect on Sky Plus. 

"Are you going to tell us about it?" Seann asks halfway through. "That's not your shirt, I've been through your suitcases." 

"Spent the night with a friend on Friday," Harry says. It's not exactly untrue, it's just not the whole truth. "Then at my sister's last night. Went over for tea and sort of forgot to leave." 

"This friend of yours," Lauren starts, "wouldn't happen to be about six feet tall, brown hair, fond of skinny jeans and boots. Maybe has a show on Radio 1?" 

"Fuck off," Harry says, throwing a pillow at her. 

"We saw the pictures," Seann says. "That's his shirt isn't it?" 

"Mine was disgusting," Harry says. "And then I slept in it. He offered me a clean one the next morning." 

"Awwww, that's nice of 'im," Lauren says, hugging the pillow Harry'd chucked at her. 

They all go back to watching the movie. 

~*~ 

Seann doesn't bring it up again until they're alone in their room and getting ready for bed. "I'm not jealous, you know," he says. "Of you and Nick." 

"It's really nothing," Harry says. "Aimee's going to manage me once we're done with shows, and he's just sort of…there, usually." 

"Hmmm." Seann climbs into bed, looking younger and softer, but more tired without the perfect makeup he always has on. "Just be careful."

Harry's last thought before he drifts off is that he wishes people would stop telling him that. 

~*~ 

On Tuesday after Harry finishes with the vocal coaches for the day he gets the tube from Wembley into Camden and meets Aimee at the Lyttelton Arms. From the outside it looks like any normal local pub, but inside there's bright murals against brick walls, and garish seats. Aimee looks right at home sitting in a booth across from someone who must be Jamie. 

"Harry!" Aimee says, waving him over like he wasn't already on his way. "Jamie, this is Harry, we want to make him a mega star. Harry this is Jamie, she's the lead singer of Toast Snack." 

"We mostly sing about food," Jamie says, holding out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Styles. Looked you up after Aims told me you were free for next week, loved that cover of Unstoppable." 

"Thank you," Harry says, taking the seat next to Aimee. 

"Burgers are two for one, if you like," she says to Harry. Her phone is on the table between them and Harry can see that her texts keep going off, but it would be rude to look, so he turns his attention to the menu while Aimee and Jamie continue to chat. Aimee picks up her phone and types something in quickly before going back to her conversation. Harry's phone goes off next. 

He's been sent a screencap of Nick's conversation with Aimee, which is a full screen of Nick sending stupid messages about what's on telly, and Aimee sending back _fuck off_ with about five middle finger emojis in a row. 

_You doing anything?_

From anyone else it would be a booty call. From Nick, it's just because he's bored and can't stand to be alone for more than about ten minutes at a time. 

_Having dinner with Aimee_ , Harry sends back. He leaves off the rude emoji. It's not really his style. _Two burgers is too much, right?_

 _Where are you?_ Nick asks. 

Harry texts him the location, and goes back to deciding between the chickpea burger and the poutine burger. 

Ten minutes later, Nick walks in and Aimee turns to Harry. "You told him?" 

"Why not? He wasn't going to stop texting either of us." 

"He's got other friends," Aimee says. "He can go bother them. We're working." 

Harry looks pointedly at the empties that are stacking up on the table and then back at Aimee. 

"All right, point." 

"He won't stay too long anyway, he's got radio in the morning," Harry says. Even though he's not entirely sure it's true — Nick doesn't exactly have a good sense of time when he's out having fun. Aimee doesn't fight him on the point. Nick sits down across from Harry and puts his phone face down on the table. 

"You call this a meeting?" Nick asks. "You're not nearly far enough in for this to be a meeting yet. What's everyone having?" 

Harry kicks him under the table, but gives Nick his drinks order, and watches him go up to the bar. Nick's terrible at waiting for anything, which means he's already got his card out and is tapping it on the bar while they make up the drinks. It's oddly endearing how terrible Nick is at normal human things, like holding still for three minutes. Then Nick manages to hold all four drinks at the same time to carry them back and Harry has a whole other range of feelings about that, most of which are unfit for the very public space they're in. 

"You decide what songs he's singing yet?" Nick asks. Their choices are limited, because there's not really time to set anything up, but Aimee knows someone willing to come out and play guitar, which helps a lot, and broadens the track list somewhat. They're still filling out the set list with Harry's X Factor tracks, because he knows those best and is unlikely to trip over himself on stage with them, as he's already performed them without injury. Nick looks over the list Aimee has on her phone and smiles. "You'll smash it, it'll be brilliant." 

Harry's not sure how he'll be able to pull off songs that he's used to in full orchestration with just a single guitar backing him up, but he has to manage somehow, and he has all of tomorrow evening to get to know his new partner. If that's what they are, if this is going to last for more than the one night tomorrow. 

Eventually, they need food so they don't fall down on the way out. Harry goes for the chickpeas because he's trying to be at least somewhat healthy right now, after Christmas excess. Nick orders a pulled pork burger and another pint, and then complains about how he really is trying to be healthy, but no one really takes him seriously. 

Jamie leaves after she eats, and Aimee leaves after Ian complains that he never sees her (which Harry knows is code for _I'm horny, come home and shag me_ because Nick had told him that months ago), and that just leaves Nick and Harry and their halfway-warm drinks. 

"Thursday night, yeah? You nervous?" 

"Yes? It's not as big as X Factor, but it's going to be different. People right in front of me instead of just you and the other judges." Harry picks at his soaked beer mat. "You coming? I know you've got radio in the morning and I'm not on until nine." 

Nick scoffs. "I wouldn't miss your first gig, are you mad?" 

Harry can't help the smile that creeps up on him, and he must look like some sort of lovesick idiot right now, but he can't really help that everything he feels shows up on his face. Nick just smiles back though, and kicks at Harry's toes under the table. 

"I can't believe you think I'd ditch you for _sleep_." 

"You skipped Kanye for sleep," Harry shoots back, then wonders if that makes him sound creepy, because that was ages ago, before they knew each other. 

Nick just shrugs. "Finchy was on my back about getting into a proper routine, and I almost went anyway, but in the end I just wasn't up to it that night." Harry stares him down some more. "Okay, I was avoiding running into an aquaintance I knew was going. It was weird." 

Harry wants to ask, but Nick doesn't seem to want to talk about it, so he lets it go. "I promise I won't keep you out too late," he says. "Wouldn't want to get on Victoria's bad side. Just in case you want to book me as a guest in the future. When I'm a mega pop star." 

Harry was joking about that part, but Nick smiles back warmly. "You'll be too big for our little show." 

~*~ 

By the time Thursday evening rolls around, Harry is more nervous than he wants either Aimee or Nick to know about. It's a fully different crowd out there, and he's not as rehearsed as he'd like to be, because X Factor things had run late, so he'd only been able to manage a few hours after dinner before collapsing onto Aimee's sofa, which meant he'd had to scramble this morning to make it back to the house with enough time for a quick shower and a change of clothes before going back into the grind. 

He's got a few songs that overlap with the tour set list, and he's afraid he's going to mix up the arrangements on them: there's a huge difference in what he has to sing when he has a full backing track and singers vs just one guitar. At least Niall was nice enough, and good fun to rehearse with, even if he kept pushing Harry to try out some of the new Bieber tracks. 

Nick finds Harry in one of the tiny dressing rooms backstage and slings his arm around Harry's shoulder. "Stop that." 

"Stop what?" Harry asks, genuinely puzzled. He's literally doing nothing but standing still and holding onto a mic. 

"Being nervous. I can hear it from the stage already." 

"M'not nervous." Harry lies. His mum had told him when he was a kid that just pretending he wasn't nervous was enough to kill it. It used to be, when it was just the school stage and his mates in a band, and no pressure about a future career in the mix. This is just a relatively small pub in London, but Aimee had told him that they're using it as a stepping stone to see what they need to do for his act later on. She'd tried to make it seem like there was no pressure on him at all for this, but Harry still feels like there's a lot. Like his entire future is going to be decided on a tiny pub stage. 

"You're lying," Nick says. He squeezes Harry's shoulder and then shakes him a bit. "You're all tense. Can't be good for your singing." 

Harry shakes his head. "I'm fine. I'll be fine." 

"You will," Nick agrees. "I'll be out there front and center just like you're used to. Aims got us a table. You can do this." 

Harry nods and digs his fingers into his hair. "It's just. It's not X Factor anymore is it?" 

"You've got this. It's a few hundred people instead of millions. And no one's going to comment on it after." Nick knocks his shoulder into Harry's. "Just remember your lyrics this time, and you'll be fine."

"Shurrup," Harry says, turning red. He can still feel that horrible combination of stage lights and the complete blank of his memory when he thinks about it too much. 

Niall comes over to tap grab Harry. "We're on in five," he says. 

"Go," Harry tells Nick. "I'm okay." 

Nick goes, and Harry wishes he had enough space to pace, but it's pretty cramped at the side of the stage here, and Niall's crammed in right next to him. 

Two minutes later, Aimee jumps up on the stage to introduce him, but he doesn't really comprehend exactly what she says about him. His world narrows down to the mic in his hand and Niall by his side idly strumming the chords on his guitar. 

Once Harry steps out on the stage, though, everything melts away, because this is what he likes best. 

It turns out he has no problem remembering which arrangement he's supposed to be singing, because this pub is so far removed from the X Factor stage, and the rehearsal space he's been in for a week and a half. Niall's getting into it, too, and he plays it up whenever Harry shuffles over to him between lines. He'll have to make sure Aimee keeps his number for later, he wouldn't mind working with him again. 

Despite nobody knowing who he was before he stepped up on stage today, he thinks he's got a good reaction from the crowd; there's a lot of clapping and a few cheers (the loudest from Nick, Harry knows that voice), and he just jumps off stage when he's done, because there's nothing else to do. 

Of course, jumping off stage straight into Nick's arms is something that he should have expected, but it's still a surprise when Nick squeezes him tight. Harry wraps his arms around Nick and Nick does the same, and thinks that he never wants to move. 

~*~ 

_What do you want for your tea tonight?_

The text comes just as Harry's sitting down to have his lunch after a session of choreography where he'd ended up tripping over his own feet more than once while trying to keep up with the relatively simple routines he's expected to remember. It's not even dancing, it's just moving around the stage and making sure to hit the right lighting cues so that the production works the way it's supposed to. He's got to learn seven songs of this, too. 

And even though he's having a bit of trouble keeping his cues straight for each song, he's pretty sure he would have remembered Nick inviting him over for his tea. 

_Did you maybe want to ask me something first?_ He sends back. 

Nick starts to respond immediately, though it takes forever for the message to come though. _Did you have other plans?_

_No_ , Harry sends. _But it's nice to be asked._ He can't help but smile, poking his tongue into his cheek as he waits for Nick to respond. 

_Fine, Harold. Would you like to come to mine for your tea tonight?_

_Yes, thanks._

_Good. What do you want for tea?_

Harry thinks about calling instead of just responding via text, but he's not sure where Nick is or whether he'd be interrupting. Nick is texting, but Harry knows that he does it all the time during meetings, or when he's out with other people. So Harry could easily be interrupting if he did that. 

_Anything's good_ , Harry says. _Sushi, maybe?_

 _Perfect_ , Nick says. _Come over when you're done_ _being a pop star_. 

If this is being a pop star, it definitely needs improvements. He just keeps getting driven from place to place and tripping over his own feet. And he's about to lose his voice; his throat feels scratchy. 

_See you later_ , he texts Nick, and then hurries to eat his lunch in the thirty free minutes he has for the day. 

~*~ 

It's nearing half seven by the time Harry makes his way to Nick's flat on Friday. They were supposed to be doing some tech rehearsals in the studio space, but the monitor mixer had broken down and wouldn't actually do what it's supposed to do, but no one would let him leave and he ended up sitting around texting his mum and Gemma for two hours while they tried to get things working again. And once it was fixed there'd been enough time to start rehearsals, which ran late, and then the tube was fucked, and basically all Harry wants to do when he gets to Nick's is collapse onto his sofa and play with Pig. 

Nick hasn't said whether there'd be other people around, so maybe he'll get to do just that. 

Pig nearly escapes when Nick answers the door. Harry has to catch her before she gets to the steps so he doesn't get a hug until everyone is safely inside with the door bolted shut. 

"You look dead," Nick says pulling Harry in. 

Harry knows his face is horrendous right now, he's fully broken out and feels dry and greasy most days by the time he's done, and today doubly so. "I feel dead," he tells Nick while he peels off his jacket. 

"I was thinking about going out tonight, Slaves are playing at the Roundhouse, but you look like you need sleep more." He looks Harry up and down. "Go sit down I'll order dinner for us." 

Harry does what he's told, half because he's used to following orders these days and half because he just doesn't have the energy to stand and be interesting. The radio's on in Nick's flat, Annie's voice filtering through the speakers as she segues Mura Masa into Disclosure. Even though the music meant to get people out dancing on a Friday night, Harry finds himself dozing off while clutching one of Nick's pillows to his chest. 

"— For Harry who has apparently fallen asleep to my voice," is what Harry hears in Annie's Irish lilt when he wakes up. He blinks a few times before he figures out why Annie Mac is saying his name on the radio. 

Nick is sitting on the other end of the sofa, phone in hand. "Did you text Annie Mac?" he asks. Nick's feet are next to Harry's thighs, poking him, which is probably what woke him up. 

"Maybe," Nick says, though his smile totally gives him away. "I may have also sent her a picture. Cool Friday night." 

"You've slept through entire parties because you overworked yourself," Harry reminds him. There's this weird line, where Nick is his friend, and a mentor, but also a stranger he knows really well because he's been listening to Nick's show for so long. It's almost creepy, how much he remembers about Nick from before they met, but Nick never really reacts when Harry says things like that, so maybe the awkwardness is just all in his head. 

"True," Nick says. "But don't be like me." He pokes Harry's leg again. "Food will be here in a minute, so try to stay awake while we eat. I'd hate to have to call 999 if you choked on a tuna roll." 

Nick turns on the telly and flips through a few screens until he lands on the channel he's looking for, which turns out to be airing a documentary on David Bowie, and he leaves it there, watching and not speaking until the doorbell rings -- their dinner delivery. 

They eat mostly in silence, and it's not until they're tossing the empty containers and shoving leftovers into the fridge that Nick asks about the gig. 

"Aimee thought you were great," Nick says. "You looked like you were having fun." 

Harry bites his lip. "It was good, yeah. It was different to what I expected I think," Harry says. He's had a day and so much downtime to talk it over with Gemma. "X Factor audiences are primed and ready to go off as soon as you step up. But this was just people out for dinner and a pint. Or in there to see Jamie's band. But I think they liked me. Which is a good start." 

"They definitely liked you," Nick says. "Our table did, at least." 

"Your table was Aimee and Ian and George and Pixie. They don't count." 

"Sure they do," Nick says. "Ian and George and Pix at least. I think me and Aims are biased, probably." 

Harry bites back a smile. It just doesn't get old, this thing where he and Nick are _friends_ now. "Which means Ian's not impartial now either. George and Pixie, maybe." 

"So two people liked you at our table. But we weren't the only ones cheering for you." 

Harry pokes Nick's leg. "Really?" 

"I'm telling you, you're going to be huge. I knew it from the moment we saw you at auditions." 

"You don't think I've made a mistake by not taking Simon's offer?" 

"Are you joking?" Nick says, jaw dropped. "You don't really get Aimee, do you?" 

"Um." Harry doesn't know what to say. Aimee likes him and has big dreams, but he knows less about her ability to carry him through. 

"She knows _everyone_. And she'll drag you around London by your hair until everyone knows you, too. Trust me, you made the right call." 

Harry nods and slides down the sofa a bit, until he's almost lying flat, knees splayed out everywhere. "We can go out if you want," he says. "I'm a bit more awake I think." 

Nick tosses a pillow at him. "You want a cuppa? Don't think I'm in the mood for dancing anymore." 

Harry's not sure why he's changed his mind, other than because Harry's a lump on his sofa. He could easily send Harry home and go out with his friends, but he seems content instead to stay in and let Harry dribble on the pillows. Pig doesn't seem to mind either, since she's got her head in Harry's lap, and they've both been absently petting her while they talk. 

~*~ 

This time, waking up in Nick's bed isn't accompanied by a side order of hangover. He just feels content and warm, which is a nice change from the last time. Harry's watch says it's after eight in the morning, but it's still dark in Nick's bedroom, thanks to the heavy curtains over the window and the way his flat is below street level. 

Pig is puttering around outside the door, but Nick's still fast asleep so Harry carefully rolls out of bed and goes to let her out into the back garden and make some tea for himself. It takes a few tries to find everything, but he's got a perfect cup brewed by the time Nick comes out of the bedroom, glasses on, shirt still missing and hair ruffled adorably. Harry'd decided last time he'd seen Nick like this that it was his favorite look, and now that he's seeing it again, he's not changing his mind. 

"Has the Pig been out?" 

"Yeah, took her out before I made tea. You want some?" 

"I can make it," Nick says. "Don't get up." He pulls at Harry's bun as he passes by into the kitchen, and Harry smiles into his tea. 

"You want to go for breakfast?" Nick asks. "We can take Pig and head for the Bread Shop. It's a bit of a walk, but we need to earn the croissants somehow." 

Harry agrees because there's nothing else he wants to do with his day. A walk through the park and over to get pastries with Nick and Pig sounds perfect. 

Once they're outside, Harry sees a few photographers hanging around the entrance to the park, but doesn't really pay them any mind. He knows Nick gets photographed at his house a few times a week, and since Nick doesn't pay any attention to the cameras pointed at them, Harry doesn't either. Just concentrates on matching his pace to Nick's and not falling over his own feet. 

Nick's right about the croissants, though, they're warm and flaky and Harry gets crumbs all over his shirt that Pig jumps up to lick off while Nick tries to pull her off and Harry can't stop laughing. There's people watching them, but Harry thinks it's more for the _psychotic dog_ than because it's Nick. 

When Harry looks up Nick's got his phone pointed at him, taking pictures or video, Harry can't tell. 

"Is that going up on instagram?" Harry asks. 

"Snapchat," Nick tells him, messing with the screen a bit before tucking his phone away. "Come on, we'll get a taxi home." 

Harry goes back inside to get a dozen croissants and chocolate croissants before they leave. He'll take some over to Gemma's tomorrow, and leave the rest at the house. 

~*~ 

On Monday, Nick texts him at lunch again to ask what he wants for tea, and so Harry ends up there after he's done with rehearsals. And then again on Tuesday and Thursday. Doing this on a weeknight means a few hours of Nick's company before Nick goes to bed and either invites Harry to stay or sends him back to the X Factor house in a taxi. It's even splits how often he does either, but it never really matters because Harry just gets up when Nick does and heads back to the house for a nap when he stays over, and he's never late to his own rehearsals at all. 

The good feeling lasts all week, and by the time Friday rolls around, Harry is ready to go out , and not just sleep for ten hours. 

Nick takes him to Shoreditch House for dinner, and then to somewhere loud where one of Nick's friends is on the decks. They hang out there instead of on the middle of the dance floor, but there's still quite a few people, some of whom Harry actually knows, and everyone is tipsy and happy. 

Harry goes to get more drinks and comes back to find Annie Mac dancing next to Nick, and he has a sudden flashback to the first time he heard Nick's voice, as part of Annie's show on Sunday nights. He's been around Nick for months now, but hasn't met her, and Harry finds himself a bit starstruck when Nick gestures for him to come over. 

"You must be Harry," Annie says. Her voice is barely audible over the music so she has to lean in close, her wild curls tickling Harry's ear. "I've heard good things about you. Nick's trying to get me to promise to play your first single." 

"That's ages away," Harry says. "I haven't even started writing for it. Don't have a record contract or anything." 

"Nice pitch," Nick says with a laugh. "You're great at this promo thing." 

"I need to get him in right away, before Aimee gets him trained," Annie says. 

"I'd love to come in," Harry says. "Maybe play a session? I loved the one you did with Nao last week. She's amazing." 

"Don't lie to Annie Mac, Harold," Nick chastises him. "Never lie to Annie Mac about music. It's practically blasphemy." 

"I'm not! You're the one who told me to listen to _Firefly_. Turns out I love it." 

"I like you. When are your shows in London?" Annie asks. "I'll come see you. Drag my producer in, too. Make it a team outing." 

"I don't remember? Mostly I'm concentrating on learning my blocking and making sure I know all my lyrics." 

"I'll get it from Nick," she says, nodding at him. 

Someone Harry doesn't know, but Annie clearly does walks in, and she goes over to hug and talk to them, leaving Nick and Harry alone. 

"Dance with me?" Harry asks. Nick nods, and Harry moves in. It's easy to back into Nick's space, he dances with his arms out, moving his hips in rhythm that's almost synched up with the beat of the music playing around them. 

Feeling bold, Harry reaches back with his free hand to grab Nick's and set it on his hip, holding it there until Nick relaxes into the touch, and Harry can lean back just a tiny bit more until their hips are lined up, and he can feel Nick's shirt against his back, damp and sticky from the heat. 

Nick's hand moves around until he's holding onto Harry's abs, just above his stomach. The touch burns in the best way; Harry's being branded with it, wants to ink the outline of it into his skin and keep it there forever, something that marks him as _Nick's_ , something visible to the world. He turns his head and finds that he's inches away from Nick's mouth, too. 

Harry wants to kiss him, wants to just close those few inches and grab at Nick's lips with his own. Nick's eyes are wide, and they drop to Harry's mouth when he licks his lips, the movement making Nick's eyes grow dark and his grip on Harry tighten even more. Harry will never be able to forget the feeling of Nick's hand on him, even through his shirt. 

"Harry," Nick says, voice quiet enough that Harry can barely hear him even though he's right there, but he knows the shape of his name on Nick's lips. 

"Nick," Harry says, unable to think of anything else to say. 

"Grimmy!" comes a voice off to their left, and Nick's head whips around at the sound of his name. Harry is dizzy with how fast Nick pulls away to go kiss Gellz hello, though at least he doesn't move away without one last squeeze to Harry's hip. 

She comes to say hi to Harry too, and Harry wants to hate her for interrupting, but then again they are not quite in the middle of the dance floor in a crowded club. And he likes Gellz anyway. It's hard not to be a little bit bitter about it, though, because he doesn't manage to get Nick to himself for the rest of the night. By the time they're all ready to leave, he's too drunk to trust himself to make the move he wants. He can stand, but only barely, and just like they had done a few weeks ago, Nick holds him up and Harry follows him down the stairs and into bed where they sleep. And nothing else. 

~*~ 

Harry oversleeps in the morning because he'd forgotten to set his alarm before passing out. Also his phone's out of batteries. When he finally does wake up, he's got just enough time to have a quick shower and dash out the door to the tube. He steals one of Nick's shirts, again, and promises to have it back later in the week as he dashes for the door. He hesitates hand on the knob, wanting to do more than just shout his goodbye. He wants to leave with a goodbye kiss, but he's not sure where they stand after last night. After a long pause he just says goodbye and walks out. 

By the time he makes it to the platforms at Kings Cross, he finds Johnny sitting in Pret with a tea and a croissant. 

"Sorry, sorry," Harry says as he nearly runs around the barrier to Johnny's table. "Sorry. There were delays and then some girls wanted a picture and my phone's dead because we fell just asleep last night and I forgot to plug it in." 

"Did you say _we_?" Johnny asks, sly smile creeping on his face. 

Harry pauses for a second because he's so used to everyone he sees these days knowing that he spends half his nights at Nick's, and it's not a big deal. Nick just likes having people around, and Harry likes being around Nick. 

"I went out with a bunch of people last night," he settles on. "Stayed over at a friend's after." There's no real reason to leave Nick's name out of it. It's just that this thing with Nick is _his_ thing with Nick. Johnny's only in town overnight before he has to go back up north for Uni and Harry has no idea when they're going to get to see each other next. 

"Sure," Johnny says, far too knowing, though it seems like he'll let Harry keep his secrets for now. "Come on, lets check into my hotel and then you can show me some of your new rockstar life." 

"It's really not all that glamourous," Harry says. "Mostly I get shuttled between different studios and told to sing."

"Not much different there, then." 

~*~ 

"I feel like a poor student again," Harry says after they've spent the afternoon watching terrible TV, emerging only to go to the store around the corner for a chap bottle of vodka. "Let's go to Bar Soho. We haven't been for ages." 

"I still am a poor student," Johnny says, taking the bottle from Harry's hand. "We're not going quite yet." 

Harry ducks back inside the shop for some juice and cups.

~*~ 

By the time they make it to the front of the queue, they're hanging onto each other to stay upright as Harry forks over a twenty pound note for their entry. He pays for their drinks as well, since he's not exactly a starving student anymore and he wants to show Johnny a good time. It's easy to get lost in the thumping music and the heat of everyone on the dance floor, and Harry finds himself at the center of a solid group of people who seem to know who he is but who don't care one way or the other. Harry orders at least four rounds of shots for everyone before last call, and once they're done they all stumble out into the night together. Harry can't remember anyone's names, but one of the girls seems to have taken a liking to Johnny, and is sticking close to his side. He's about to ask if he needs to get a cab back to his own house when Johnny hugs her and steps away with loud, slurred promises to call in the week and slings an arm around Harry. 

"Back to mine, then?" 

"If you like," Harry says. It's late, but not that late for a party night, and he could probably find them somewhere else to go, but he's exhausted as well, so he lets Johnny lead them back to his hotel room where they both collapse onto the bed fully dressed. 

Johnny pinches his side and Harry twists away until he falls off the bed. Lying on the floor it looks a lot higher up than he remembers. "Think I'll just stay here for the night," he tells Johnny. 

The bed creaks and then Johnny is standing over him, looking slightly unsteady but holding out his hands. Harry reaches for him, but can't quite make it. 

"Fine, you can sleep down there. Wreck your back." 

Harry groans, knowing what he'll feel like in the morning if he's both hungover _and_ has injured his back from sleeping on the hard floor. It's just that he's drunk and doesn't want to move. 

"Slept with Nick last night," he mumbles while rolling onto his site to try to get his legs under him. "Grimmy. I mean. Just sleep." 

"Oh." Johnny sounds surprised. "You sure you just slept?" 

"Would've remembered more," Harry says. His legs are almost cooperating now. He sort of pushes and manages to lurch over and catch himself on the bed, where Johnny is waiting to help pull him up. "Almost kissed him. His friends are awful." 

Johnny pats his head. "I'm sure they're fine." 

"Worst," Harry declares. 

"Tell me in the morning," Johnny says, the end of the word getting lost in the pillow as he passes out. Harry stays awake long enough to unbutton his jeans so they're not cutting into his hips so much, and then he passes out on top of the blankets as well. 

~*~ 

Harry wakes up the next morning and feels like death. Tequila; he remembers buying round after round of tequila for the people they'd been dancing with and he makes a half-run for the bathroom, just in case. Mostly he just needs to piss, but tequila has a habit of sneaking up on him after he thinks he's settling down. He should probably make tea, but when he looks at his phone it's still just seven, and he's only been asleep for a few hours, so he sheds his jeans and crawls back into bed. 

~*~ 

They spend most of the morning in bed after that, making endless cups of tea until they have to call down to reception for more tea bags and milk and watching whatever's on the telly because neither of them can be arsed to actually change the channel. 

"Why'd you sleep with me anyway?" Harry asks. "That one girl was well up for it with you." 

"She asked if we were together," Johnny says. "Addison. I mean. Asked if she could watch." 

"Wouldn't mind. I like it. Being watched." 

"I know, Styles." Johnny rolls his eyes. "Been doing any of that recently? Maybe with a certain DJ you've been hot for since year seven?" 

"It's not like that! Also, don't say it that way, it sounds creepy."

"I'm just saying. We started going to Bar Soho to drink through your heartbreak and last night you only had eyes for tequila, then spent all night wanting to fight someone called Gellz." 

Harry groans. "Did I say that?" He remembers talking just before they both passed out, but the specifics escape him. He probably mentioned Nick, since Harry doesn't really go very long between times thinking about him and tequila is a bastard, but he does like Nick's friends as a general rule. "I like his friends. They've all been great." 

"You were about to charge out of here to take them down last night," Johnny says. 

Which is definitely an exaggeration, but there is a part of Harry that's still a little bit angry at Gellz for interrupting the other night. 

"They're great. It's just…. Like. He has so many friends and they're around all the time." Harry looks down at his empty tea cup, trying to decide if Johnny will let him delay the rest of this conversation before he makes more. Probably not, they're both tired and emotional and Harry should just tell him already. "We almost kissed. Night before last. We were out and one of his friends was playing a set, and he was just. Right there. Dancing with me. Until Gillian came and interrupted us."

Harry gets up to go boil the kettle again. 

"You still fancy him, then? It's been years." 

"He's a friend," Harry argues. "It's not like it was back in sixth form. He's not just some hot guy off radio and telly that I want to get off with. He's like. He's everything." 

Johnny gives him a look that Harry can't decipher. Well, more like he doesn't want to deal with that look and he's hungover enough to give himself the excuse so he doesn't have to. 

"You remember Peter, right? Harry, that was a disaster." 

Sometimes Harry manages to go whole months without thinking about his first broken heart, his first year of uni. The first time they'd done, well, exactly what they'd done last night.

"It's not the same," Harry says. Not sure if Johnny will get the point. "I'm not going to go mad if he doesn't like me back. It's just. He's been really good to me since I started this whole thing, even though it was a bit creepy of me to audition just to meet him. His best friend is my manager now, and I never would have met her without him. He's been so good and generous and I don't even know if he wants the same thing or if he's just like this with everyone." 

"Just…be careful," Johnny says, leaning on Harry and letting his chin drill into Harry's shoulder until he knows it hurts. "I don't want you to get burned and lose everything." 

"He's not like that. I don't think. Just sometimes. Like. I think he wants the same things I do. I just don't know how to ask. And I'm leaving soon. I'll be gone two months. What if he forgets." 

"Like anyone could forget you," Johnny says. "You'll figure it out, I'm sure. And his _best friend is your manager_. It's not like you're dropping out of his life forever." 

Harry nods, then instantly regrets it. The river of tea they've had hasn't actually done anything, it seems. 

"We should go get food," Johnny suggests once Harry's dropped his fingers from his temples, equilibrium gained back for the moment. "Then you can show me your fancy new London digs." 

"You've visited the house before," Harry says, pinching him. "There's just fewer people around." 

"Uh huh." Johnny pulls on his jacket and pockets the key card, and Harry does the same. "Is Lauren still around, then?" 

Harry laughs and pulls open the door to the corridor. "I see how it is." 

~*~ 

Harry spends most of his birthday in a room at the London Edition doing press for the tour. They're grouped into their original categories for the day, so he ends up squished between Seann and Mason on a sofa that's really meant for two people while they answer the same questions over and over again. He's done press before, but it's nothing like this, and Harry is bored out of his mind after a few hours. And to add insult to injury the Radio 1 representative who comes for an interview isn't even Nick. It's not any of the DJs in the end, it's Sinead with Newsbeat. 

They're shuttled from the hotel back to Fountain Studios to work on the full group set they'll use to open the show each night. It's chaos, because they've all learned their blocking individually and now have to weave in and out of each other in order to get it right as a group. It's a long day but in the end Sarah, who's been in charge of moving them around the last few weeks, comes out with a strawberry Victoria sandwich with a ring of candles. The cake is gone in about five minutes, given how many pieces they'd had to slice it into to make sure everyone got one, and he's still glowing from the attention when his phone rings. 

It's his mum, but he doesn't answer. Instead he grabs his coat and scarf, thanks Sarah for the cake and waves goodbye to everyone.

 _You didn't tell me it was your birthday_. Nick's text pops up first when Harry makes it back up to street level at Picadilly Circus. 

_I nearly forgot_ , Harry sends back. Which is almost true, but he'd had Johnny coming, and they'd spent his birthday in London since they turned seventeen. _Been too busy lately_. 

_popstar lifestyle_ , Nick agrees. 

Harry calls him because even though the hotel is only a few streets over, he's terrible at texting and walking and is more likely to fall over if he's watching his screen instead of the pavement. They're still talking when Harry knocks on his mum's hotel door, which means that Nick is still listening in when Gemma answers and pulls him inside. 

He hugs everyone hello and then tries to politely excuse himself to actually end the call, since Nick hasn't actually done it in the last two minutes. 

"Sorry," he says. "It's just Nick, give me a minute." 

" _Just Nick_ ," Gemma repeats, a clear leer in her voice that Harry really hopes Nick can't hear. 

"You should invite him to dinner," Anne says. "We didn't get the chance to properly chat at Christmas." 

Harry stares at his mum for a minute while Gemma dissolves into laughter in the background, and then puts the phone back to his ear and escapes out to the hallway so he doesn't have to do this in front of everyone. 

"So. You heard that?" 

"Are you okay with it? I can have other plans if you need me to," Nick says, sounding a bit odd. 

"No, no. I want you to come," Harry says. It's not a lie, he'd have tried to invite Nick out tonight if his family weren't in town. "You sure you want to meet my mum?" 

"I've met her," Nick says. "I love your mum. She's gorgeous."

"But that wasn't a dinner where it's just us." Harry's not exactly sure how to say that he thinks she wants to meet his boyfriend when they're not actually dating. They haven't even kissed, for all that Harry's nearly moved into his flat in the last week. 

"You can say no, Haz," Nick's voice is gentle and soft now. "I like your mum, but if you want it to just be family I won't hold a grudge." 

"No, you should come," Harry says. It's been a long day and he wants to see Nick and it's his birthday. That's a good enough reason in the end. "You can meet us here or at the restaurant. Not sure when the table's booked, Gemma took care of everything." 

"Where are you?" 

Harry gives him the hotel info and ends the call, and then tries to get his face to be less red to go back into the room to properly greet his family. 

~*~ 

Nick shows up forty minutes later, a bottle of wine and bunch of flowers in his hands when Harry opens the door. 

"Happy Birthday," he says, pulling Harry into a hug. 

"I'm sorry about this," Harry says. "You didn't have to come. I'm sure you've got better things going on." 

Nick shrugs. "Not really. Just me and Pig and cheese or sommat for my tea. I need to do a big shop." 

"Come in, then. You remember Anne and Robin. And Gemma." 

"It's good to see you again," Anne says, standing and coming over to give Nick a hug. "I'm glad you're looking out for my boy." 

"He doesn't need me," Nick says. "He's doing just fine on his own." 

Harry tries to hide behind his flowers, but it doesn't really work because he can see Gemma's face, and she's got a _look_. 

"I'm happy you're around anyway," Anne says. "You've been good for him all the way through." 

"Mum!" Harry yelps. It's like listening to his mum talk to his primary school teachers, except that he has some decidedly not kid-friendly fantasies about Nick, which just makes it awkward all around. 

Anne just smiles at him, and then turns back to Nick to ask about his show, and what's coming up in the next few weeks. Harry busies himself trying to figure out what to do with the flowers, but can't find anything to put them in, so he just lays them carefully on the desk, and sits next to Gemma. 

Gemma keeps looking at her phone, until finally she stands up and announces that it's time to go. It's just a short walk from the hotel to the restaurant, and Nick keeps step with Harry the whole time, their shoulders bumping together. 

The table Gemma's managed to book for them is meant for four, so the addition of one more means they all have to crowd together to make it work. Given that Harry is now almost halfway into Nick's lap, he's certainly not going to protest. And even though he's with his mum, he's not even going to try to feel guilty for it, because it's a necessity. Also it's his birthday, and he refuses to feel guilty over what he wants tonight, regardless of how many of his wishes actually come true. 

At the end of the meal Gemma produces a plate of cupcakes from nowhere and lights candles while they sing for him and Nick keeps his phone in front of his face, taking pictures of Harry the whole time.

They linger in the restaurant until the wait staff looks about ready to kill them all, and then wander slowly back to the hotel. Nick seems to like his family, and his mum likes Nick, which is probably the more important part of it, given one of the things Harry had wished for as he'd blown out his candles. 

Eventually, though, everyone is yawning more than talking. 

"Are you staying here tonight?" Nick asks Harry. "Or do you want a lift home?" 

"That'd be lovely." 

"What about you, Gemma?" Nick asks. 

Harry stares her down, hoping she gets what he's trying to tell her without words.

"I live on the other side of the city," she says, even though it's not quite true. But she does live further out than Harry's staying. And both are pretty far out of Nick's way to drive. Harry doesn't regret this tiny bit of sibling bullying, and anyway he'll repay her later. Somehow. 

He gathers up his flowers and bag, and follows Nick down the corridor to the elevator. 

"I'm glad you came," Harry says. "Sorry mum had to pressure you into it, though." 

"It was nice," Nick says. He's standing closer to Harry than is strictly necessary while they wait for the lift. "You really did rescue me from a dinner of cheese." 

"I'm sure Pig is very grateful." Harry smiles. "I know I am. The flowers are lovely. Seann's going to steal them the moment I walk in the door." 

They chat about random things as they take the lift down to the lobby and pay the meter to free Nick's car, and then they're pulling away from the pavement and out into central London. When Nick switches on the radio for the last few minutes of Huw's show, Harry realizes that Nick probably should be in bed right now. He's driving Harry home instead. 

Maybe… 

~*~ 

The house is mostly dark by the time Nick pulls up outside the gates. Harry checks his pocket to make sure he's got his key fob for entry before he reaches for the handle. 

Nick puts his hand on Harry's which has the effect of stopping him in his tracks even though he's not actually holding Harry down. Not that Harry would mind, but for now it's just a light touch; Nick's hand over his where it's resting on the center console. 

Harry still wants to kiss him. And he thinks that maybe he wouldn't be pushed away if he tried. He leans forward a fraction of an inch and watches Nick's eyes go wide and dark when he does. But then a car honks as it goes past and Harry remembers that they're sitting outside the gates to the X Factor house, where Harry doesn't actually have his own room, and that Nick has work in the morning and still has to drive home. And that he's about to leave for a few months. It's unfair of him to start anything right now. 

Instead of doing what he really wants, Harry flips his hand over so that he can squeeze Nick's hand. "Thank you. For driving me home. And." Harry stops, not really having the words to say what he's thinking without sounding like a romantic comedy, and even though he's been on telly recently, his life isn't actually a film or a comedy. Also, he doesn't want Nick to laugh at him for saying it. He ends up just not finishing the sentence. Nick doesn't seem to notice. 

"I'll see you soon, yeah? We'll do a proper party before you leave." 

"Send me the pictures you took tonight?" 

"Yeah, of course." 

Harry steps out of the car and shivers in the wintry air. He needs to get inside fast before he freezes to death. "And text me when you get home, so I know you haven't fallen asleep and died in a horrible crash." 

"Go inside before you catch pneumonia and land in hospy," Nick says, a lopsided smile on his face. Harry wants to memorise that expression. It'd be too weird to pull out his phone and take a picture. 

"Have a nice show tomorrow," Harry says, before making himself step back and close the door. He fumbles with his keys and opens the side pedestrian gate. He keeps turning back to watch Nick drive away, but Nick stays where he is until Harry reaches the door, opens it, and turns back to wave one more time. Then he can watch Nick drive off and work on controlling his face just in case he runs into anyone on the way to bed. 

He takes his time getting ready to sleep. The bathrooms are deserted at this time of night, so Harry takes his time in the shower, soaping himself up and letting the hot water pound into his shoulders and relax him. He palms over his dick with a soap-slick hand, enjoying the sensation more than trying to make anything happen. It wouldn't take much. He's got the close memory of Nick's hand over his, the warm look on Nick's face when he'd showed up at the door holding flowers. The feel of Nick pressed up against his back, hips moving with Harry's on the dance floor last weekend. The heat of the shower almost matches the heat of the club, and Harry's hand moves from his cock to his abs where Nick had held him close.

Harry used to do this all the time, used to keep Nick's face at the front of his mind. Wonder what it would be like to have Nick's ridiculously spindly hands on him. He knows now. Almost. And he does still fancy Nick but it's different; he doesn't just want a shag, he wants a full lifetime of shags. Among other things. He can't decide if it's more or less creepy to jerk off to Nick's mouth now that he knows him, counts him as a friend. 

He strokes himself a few more times with more purpose and starts to fatten up. Harry has to bite his lip to keep from moaning as he remembers all the times Nick has touched him, all the times he's woken up in Nick's bed and got to see him before he gathers his wits and puts on his charming face. He thinks of Nick splayed out on the sofa at the end of the day, feet in Harry's lap, phone in hand. God, this used to just be time for filthy fantasies about Nick's mouth. Not that it really makes a difference in how this is going; Harry gasps and leans an arm on the tiles, vaguely noticing that he's had the hot water running long enough that they don't feel cold anymore. 

Tonight had been a whole different level of domestic fantasy: Nick out to dinner with his family, with his _mum,_ who had loved him. 

Okay, maybe he shouldn't be thinking about his mum while he has a hand on his dick. 

He focuses on Nick again, his long legs and wide mouth and smile and the ridiculous way he throws his whole self into everything he does. It's not long before Harry's toes are curling against the tile and he's spilling out into his hand, wrung out and satisfied. 

Sleepiness sets in pretty quickly so Harry hurries to finish washing his hair, and then he's climbing into bed ten minutes later. He checks his phone one last time and sees that Nick's posted what must be the picture he'd promised he'd send Harry when he got home. He's captioned it _haaaaaaaaaappppppppppyyyyybuuuuuuurrrrfffffdaaaaaayyytoooyouuuuuuuuuuuuu._ Harry makes sure to like the picture and he drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face. 


	3. Chapter 3

Meghan shakes Harry awake what feels like two seconds later. 

"Get dressed," she tells him. "Simon needs to see you." 

Harry sits up and blinks at her for a minute. "What's wrong? What's happened?" 

"Clothes, Harry. I'm taking your phone, I'll be back in ten minutes." 

She does as promised and closes the door behind her. Seann is stirring in the other bed. "Whassgoing on?" 

"They've taken my phone," Harry says. "I have no idea. She said Simon wants to see me." 

Seann rubs his eyes, looking so much younger with his face clean and un-made up. Harry likes him like this best: he's got a fierce front, but he's squishy and soft on the inside, and he's Harry's favorite. Second favorite, anyway. Behind Nick. 

"Get dressed, I'll see if I can find it." 

Harry does as instructed, pulling out a cushy jumper that he doesn't remember buying. Maybe it's Nicks. Or maybe wardrobe gave it to him. All sorts give him free things to wear these days, but he usually just ends up in ripped jeans and boots and a tshirt. He puts on the Puppy shirt he'd stolen from Nick last week under the jumper. It feels nice to have one of Nick's things on him right now, given that he's so far out of his depth and it might even be too early for Nick to be up. 

"What time is it?" he asks Seann. 

"Half six," Seann says, groaning. "Fuck Simon, I vote we go back to sleep." 

"You can. Meghan didn't wake you up." Harry tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice. It's not really that much earlier than he'd be waking up, really, it's just that he hadn't slept until fairly late for a week night, he's being called into an emergency meeting of some sort, his phone's been taken and he'd been having a rather nice dream before being shaken awake. 

"Oh _fuck_ ," Seann says. "You need to see this." 

Harry takes the phone. Seann's been on twitter, and all Harry sees is the headline before he needs to be sick. Seann sits up and reaches out to pull Harry down next to him. 

**SeX Factor: 4th Place finisher Harry Styles will do anything to get ahead**

_He may have auditioned as a joke, but will he do anything to make it to the top?_

_"_ Fuck _,"_ Harry says. "Fuck fuck fuck. I need to talk to Nick. And Aimee. I need to call her." 

Seann takes his phone back and starts finds Aimee's number before handing it back to Harry. All he has to do is breathe and hold it up to his ear.

"Whazzit, Seann?" she answers, sounding sleepy. "Someone had better be dead." 

"It's Haz. And I think I might be." He can almost hear her rolling out of bed and leaving the bedroom behind. "The Daily Star's saying I'm fucking my way into a career and now Simon wants a meeting and he's taken my phone." 

"Fuck," Aimee says, louder now. "Look, go to the meeting, keep your head up. Let me figure out what's going on, and I'll be waiting for you when you're done."

Harry nods, then says, "thanks," when he realises she can't actually see him, and hangs up quickly when there's a knock on the door. 

"Time's up," Meghan says, coming in. "Car's waiting." 

Harry follows her out, his stomach a ball of lead. 

~*~ 

"Can I get you some coffee?" Simon's assistant asks. Harry thinks she's called Heather, but he can't be sure. He's only been here a few times, and she'd never done more than wave at him while answering phones and messages. He shakes his head, knowing he won't be able to drink anything without feeling worse.

The imposing glass doors separating out the actual office from the seating area are closed, but there's blurry outlines moving behind them. Harry's been waiting for ten minutes now, which is entirely unfair, given that they'd pulled him out of bed for this. Nothing about this is fair, right down to Meghan still holding on to Harry's phone. "Standard protocol," she'd said when he'd asked for it back. "It's for your own protection. You don't want to make things worse." 

Harry had just nodded and gone back to biting his fingernails. He's going to hit blood soon. Fitting given that everyone seems to want some of his this morning. 

After what feels like ages the glass slides open and Simon's standing there with his arms crossed and looking ten years older than usual. "Come in, Harry." 

He glances once more at Meghan, who is typing furiously on her own phone and not paying any attention. As he moves forward he sees that it's not just Simon in his office, there's at least three other people, all of them standing behind Simon's desk. 

"Sit, Mr. Styles," Simon says. He sits down, but it still feels like Harry's standing in front of a very well-tailored wall. "Did Hannah get you something to drink?" 

"She offered," Harry says. "I'm not thirsty." It's a massive understatement, but Harry doesn't know what to say, so he's waiting for his cues from Simon. 

He doesn't have to wait long, Simon picks up a folder and slides it across the desk to Harry. He takes it, and just holds it in his hands gingerly like it's about to explode. Metaphorically he's sure he's not too far off. 

"Open it," Simon says. His voice has no hint of humor or gentleness to it at all. It's not the mean telly voice either. Harry doesn't know what he sounds like, just that he doesn't like it, that he wants to curl up in the chair and shrink until he's disappeared completely. "Read it." 

Printed out in full-page, glossy paper, the headline looks even worse. 

> **SeX Factor: 4th Place finisher Harry Styles will do anything to get ahead**
> 
> _He may have auditioned as a joke, but will he do anything to make it to the top?_
> 
> _Reports say: yes._
> 
> _Since meeting an early end in the semi-final in December, the 21-year-old singer who was mentored by Radio 1 DJ Nick Grimshaw, can still be found at Grimmy's side, and often in his flat. Styles has been partying with Nick at the weekend, and leaving Grimmy's flat first thing in the morning, many days in a row._
> 
> _"Nick knows everyone," a source close to Harry tells the Daily Star. "Harry knows it. He'll do anything for the right introductions." When he's not on the radio, the 31-year-old DJ spends his time on the front row of London Fashion Week and partying with his famous mates, Rita Ora, Kate Moss, Alexa Chung and Daisy Lowe._
> 
> _For his part, the Manchester-born DJ is just having fun. An insider tells the Daily Star exclusively that Grimmy likes a good time, and that Styles is definitely showing him one._
> 
> _Styles, a fan favorite, was tipped to finish in the top two before a surprise twist saw him eliminated in the semi-finals. Whether he can turn that charming smile into a pop career remains to be seen._

There's pictures, too. Harry gripping Nick's arm for dear life leaving Heaven the other week. Harry and Nick laughing together backstage at X Factor. Harry alone, hair pulled back, coming up the steps from Nick's flat. _Holding on tight: Harry's not letting go of his chance to be a star_. _More than just a laugh: Grimmy was overjoyed to be given the boys to mentor. Grim expectations: Styles looks determined to get what he wants_. 

Harry just wants to cry. He's known all along that the papers could be vicious, he'd seen them ripping into Nick the week Seann and Mason had gone up against each other in the bottom two. He's seen it every time Nick's listening figures drop. Watched as he'd lost everyone but Harry and rumors started appearing that Simon was looking to replace him already. He'd raged about it to Gemma, to Anne, to Seann. He'd just never thought it would turn on him before he's really done anything. He certainly hasn't done what he's been accused of. He has no idea who he knows who would say such awful things.

Yes, he wants to sleep with Nick. But not for a career boost. 

"As you can see, we have a bit of a situation this morning," Simon says. 

Harry's still just numb and sick. "I'm not. It's — it's not like that." 

"We know that, Harry." Simon sounds like he's trying to be kind, but it mostly just comes out pained. "We know that you're not doing anything wrong."

Harry stares at the now-closed folder in his hands. Should he put it back on the desk? Rip it up? Burn it? He pulls it into his lap instead. 

"Who…?" he can't even bring himself to finish that sentence. "No one … I don't know … I never said —" 

"Let us worry about that. You remember Simon Jones?" Simon points behind him to the man on his left. "He runs my PR department, and he is excellent at his job. He's got people asking around to find out who talked, and we have solicitors who will help us if it comes to that." Simon nods at the other two men in the room, but doesn't introduce them by name. "In the meantime, I'm going to need your help." 

"Of course. Yes. Like, how do I fix this?" The pit in his stomach is as heavy as ever, but he feels slightly less alone about it. "Who should I talk to? I can go on Nick's show and say something?" 

Simon looks up at Simon Jones and nods at him. 

"These things can't be controlled with a simple interview, Harry," he says. "Saying one thing and continuing to behave exactly the same way just makes it look like you're a liar. And in the end, it reflects badly on the show and the tour. I understand it's not fully sold out, yet?" he asks Simon. 

"It's not, and you're one of our main draws, Harry. The audiences loved you." 

_Then why'd you vote for Lauren over me? Why'd you send it to deadlock?_ Harry wants to scream. Simon's vote had sent him home. "I don't. I don't know what you need me to do, then, if you don't want me to talk." 

"Talking is out of the question. But pictures are worth a hell of a lot more than statements." Simon Jones says. "Of the girls in the house, who's your favorite? Who are you closest to?" 

"Why does that matter?" 

"Do you trust me, Harry?" Simon asks. Harry doesn't answer, but Simon continues anyway. "We've got a plan. Just need you to work with us." 

"I've been doing this job a long time," Simon Jones says. "I've seen this happen before, and we can fix it. I've done it before. But we need your help, and we need to move fast."

"That's." They're talking around it, but Harry can see the shape of what they're suggesting and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. For a few seconds he thinks he might actually be sick sitting here in Simon's office. A flash of panic rises up as he looks around and can't find any bins that are visible. Does Simon just call one of his assistants to take any trash out immediately? "No, I'm not going to do that." 

"It's your choice, Harry," Simon says. "It won't take much, just a few pictures and a statement to a friendly reporter that you've gotten very close with one of the girls during the show. We would really appreciate your help on this. The faster we can get this published the better our chances of burying the original story while we find out who is responsible for it. The story is bad for everyone. You, the show. Nick. How do you think it looks for him to have this out there?" 

Harry studies his hands. Everything's been moving so fast that he hasn't had a chance to sit down and think of how it looks for Nick, too. He's been so caught up in feeling ill and wondering who on earth would sell a story like this. Harry's read all his interviews, he knows how much it had meant to Nick to come out when he got the Breakfast show, how much more free he'd felt after publication. But this…this is the sort of thing that sticks; a reputation for younger boys, for promising the world and leading them on. Harry swallows hard. 

"What do you need me to do?" 

~*~ 

Simon, Simon, and the two nameless barristers pass Harry back to Meghan and Sonia with the media training team for another hour once he's done, where he's given back his phone, but also a long list of instructions on what he is and is not allowed to do with it for the next week. Mostly it boils down to _don't talk about it, pretend nothing's happening_ , and _Don't talk to Nick in public_. The last means total radio silence on every level. At least his communication with Nick isn't limited to twitter. He texts Aimee that he's done, and by the time he makes his way outside the maze of an office building, she's waiting for him on the pavement in front of an idling taxi. 

"Come on," she says. "I think this calls for some day drinking." 

"I've got rehearsals." Though come to think of it, he's pretty much been dismissed, and Meghan hadn't followed him out to deposit him into any sort of waiting van. If they're waiting for him to get back to the studio and act like everything's normal, then they haven't told him. "Although they haven't told me that I'm supposed to go back." 

"You're coming back to mine. I'm your manager now, I call the shots." She pauses. "And there _will_ be shots." 

Harry grins at her, even though he's not really feeling it. It's just nice to have someone so solidly on his side. He should probably call his mum, because he'd seen that she'd left him a few voicemails and sent half a dozen texts. But that can wait until he feels a little bit more like he's standing on solid ground. 

"How's Nick?" He has to know, and he can't bring himself to call quite yet. 

Aimee hums. "He's had better mornings, all told. But it's not the first time the press have ripped into him, so he'll live. Tell me what Simon has you doing for him." 

Harry casts a glance at the driver, not sure how much he's listening to them, and how much he's paying attention to Five Live coming from the speakers, but Aimee seems to get it, and doesn't press him until she's sat him down on her sofa and handed him a steaming mug of tea. She's got coffee for herself, long nails tapping on the ceramic of her mug. 

"Do you know where the story's coming from yet?" she asks. 

The tea is making Harry feel better in that way that tea always makes him feel better, but it's not nearly enough for the anxiety that's taken him over. 

"Simon has some people on it," Harry says. "I don't know their names. His solicitors, I think." 

"I'll ask around, too. Gellz worked at a perfectly respectable paper, but she's bound to know some people in the seedier corners of the business. And I've got a few people I've worked with before. I'll see what I can find out." She slurps her coffee loudly, and it makes Harry giggle a bit at her. She smiles, and he realises that was the point of it. "What's the plan for damage control?" 

Harry slowly tells her what had happened, tripping over the story in places, feeling the freshly bruised memories all over again. "I don't. Everyone knows I fancy him, but I didn't think anyone would think _that_. I just. I never thought." 

"It's not you, I promise," Aimee says. "I promise. We'll figure it out. In the meantime, just try to ignore the cameras on Saturday or whenever they have you doing your thing. You do like Lauren, right?" 

"Yeah, she's great." 

Aimee's phone rings, and she frowns at it. "Hold on a sec," she says instead of _hello_. "It's Nick," she tells Harry. "I'm going to take it in the other room. Help yourself to more tea and maybe call your mom." 

Harry takes her advice and goes to put the kettle on. 

"Yeah, he's here," he hears Aimee say as she walks away. "Seem to be —" the door closes and Harry can't hear anything more, and it would be rude to just go sit outside what he presumes is her bedroom door. 

He calls his mum while waiting for the kettle to boil. 

Two minutes later he's pouring water over a fresh teabag and swiping at the tears that keep rolling down his face while his mum tries to comfort him over the phone. The platitudes delivered in her smooth voice just make it worse. He knows that tone, remembers hearing it when she and his dad had sat them down in the living room when he was just a kid to say that they were getting a divorce. 

_We both still love you_ , she'd said then. _It's better this way_. _For everyone_. 

The words aren't the same, but the idea is. "Do you want me to stay a few more days? We're still at the hotel." 

God, it was his birthday _yesterday_. Harry's lived about three lives since then, feels like he's aged ten years. He's just turned twenty-two. He laughs, he can't help it. It's not even funny. 

"I could come back at the weekend?" Anne offers. 

"They have me doing some things this weekend," he says. The plan is for him to take Lauren to lunch and then to the market on Portobello Road on Saturday, after a few days of stories with quotes from people working on the show about how they'd grown close during their run. Simon had seemed keen to include a line about her comforting him after the sing-off when they'd gone against each other. 

That had been Nick. 

"Just be sure to call if you need me," she says. "I love you." 

"Love you too." 

His tea's going cold, so he drinks it quickly and then lies down on the sofa and waits. He has no idea what he's waiting for, just that he's not in rehearsals and he's not supposed to be on his phone, so he has no idea what to do. A few minutes of silence and he's restless, though. So he opens twitter and looks at his mentions. 

His eyes get hot reading. _Always knew he was that type. Some people jsut have no shame. Bet grimmy's in hog heaven right now._

Harry gets halfway through a reply to the last one before he even thinks about it because it's _not like that_. But Aimee saves him by coming back, and getting his attention, and Harry quickly deletes the draft before he can accidentally send it. 

"He wants to know how you are. What should I tell him?" 

"That I'll call him later," Harry says. When he's maybe a bit less prone to bursting into tears every ten minutes. It's not that he doesn't trust her to relay a message, it's just that he wants to be selfish and hear Nick's voice himself, hear that he's okay, and that this isn't a big deal. Or that he's not, and it's okay for Harry to be hurt, that it's not just because he's new to the business and hasn't had time to develop the thick skin he needs to survive. Harry's not sure when he'll be able to make that call, only that he has to do it himself. 

"I know it feels like it, but it's really not the end of the world. The papers will move on soon enough and no one will remember it in two weeks." 

She's probably right, but it doesn't change the way Harry still feels sick. 

~*~ 

In the end there's a lot less drinking than Aimee had promised. Mostly Harry lies around on her sofa and watches telly while she makes calls and types furiously on her computer and phone by turns. Other than managing him, he has no idea what she does, but it's something that keeps her busy enough. 

Harry listens to her work, and to his music, and to endless repeats of Top Gear, but nothing really distracts him from his first major scandal. Sometimes Aimee's phone calls are about him, he can tell, but mostly it's about other jobs, or talking to friends. He's drifting off a bit when Ian gets back, two carrier bags in hand. 

"I brought ingredients for spagbol," he says. "Nick made sure to tell me it was your favorite before he had to run to a screening." 

It's not really Harry's favorite, though he is pretty good at making it. And in this case it's the thought that counts, and it makes him feel better just knowing that Nick wants him to. "Let me help. I need something to do before I crack and post something I shouldn't." 

Ian just nods and heads into the kitchen. Harry follows, bringing in his dirty mug to wash. He's probably had enough tea for now. 

"Wine time," Aimee declares, following them in, and then past to where there's apparently a corkscrew in a drawer. "Red or white?" 

"Red? Whatever's open, it doesn't matter." 

"It's cute how he thinks there's open bottles around here," Ian says. He's filling up a pot with water and turning on the range to heat it up. "Knives are over there if you want to start chopping up some herbs." 

Harry's not sure he can be trusted around sharp implements as his eyes aren't completely cleared up, but he can at least start peeling garlic. Aimee hands him a generous glass of wine, and Harry is so grateful to have them in his life, that Nick had introduced them in the first place. Aimee takes the knife from his hand and shoves him back towards the living room. 

"Go talk to Grim before it gets too late and you have too much wine." 

Even though he knows she's right, Harry's thumb hovers over the _call_ button for longer than should be necessary to make a call to someone he's talked to nearly every day for months now. But that was before someone sold a story about them. 

"Hiya, Haz." Nick sounds tired. All the life's gone out of his voice. Harry almost doesn't believe it's him on the phone. 

"Hi." 

They both lapse into silence, and Harry's eyes grow hot and prickly again. 

"I'm sorry." 

"No, don't. You've not done anything," Nick hurries to reassure him. "It's fucked but it's not your fault." 

Everyone's been telling him that all day, but it still feels like he's done something wrong. He'd followed Nick into his flat while drunk a few times, and then just sort of stayed. He'd seen the photographers hovering on Nick's street and hadn't even registered their presence because he'd seen Nick ignore them. He should have gotten a taxi home at night instead of staying over so many times. 

At least they don't know for sure he actually slept in Nick's bed. 

Even if they're pretending there was a lot more going on there than _sleep_. 

"I just don't know what to do," Harry confesses. 

"Have some wine, go to sleep, and pray that Kim Kardashian does something stupid overnight." 

Harry can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. "Think she's been cooped up with the baby recently. Maybe Kylie? Or Justin." 

"Justin's been behaving, sadly." Nick sounds broken up about it that Harry laughs again. "Real talk, though. You just have to wait for it to blow over. And come for lunch tomorrow? We can go out so we're not seen at mine." 

Harry leans back on the sofa and slides down until he's nearly lying down, arse right at the edge of the cushions. He doesn't know what's on the schedule for tomorrow, but something big, he thinks. They're doing technical rehearsals for the shows this week, make sure everyone knows their cues before they go on the road. And as much as he wants to see Nick, he's got a more recent memory of sitting in front of Simon Cowell and a wall of solicitors and publicists lecturing him on how he's letting everyone down. 

"I don't know. I don't know what's on tomorrow." 

"Yeah, all right," Nick says. He sounds sad, maybe? It's not something he's heard from Nick before, and Harry's heart hollows out a little bit. He wants to change his mind and agree to lunch, to sneak into Nick's flat somehow and just stay there for at least a week. 

But he can't get the image of Simon asking him to think about what would happen to Nick if Harry did that out of his head, so he just says, "Sorry." 

"Just. Keep your head down, yeah? It'll blow over." 

It doesn't feel like it, but Harry promises he will and says goodbye, not able to stay on the line when his eyes and throat are threatening to betray him again. He stays on the sofa holding his silent phone for ages after, until Ian brings his wine into him and goes back to the kitchen. 

Since Harry can't get anything else right, he might as well attempt to help with dinner and hope he doesn't ruin that, too. 

Harry stays pretty quiet while they eat; Aimee and Ian chat about their days, though Aimee kindly leaves out the mess Harry's in. Ian's been watching Greg train for his Sports Relief pledge, which Harry is completely terrified by, to be honest. It's easy, to just let them chat while he eats the spag bol and drinks wine until he's almost pleasantly tipsy and warm and full. He nearly falls asleep at the table, maybe, because he jerks at some point, and sees Aimee snicker at him, but neither of them actually say anything about it. Harry can't bring himself to really put any effort into staying awake, as it's been a really long day. 

There's ice cream, too, and then Aimee offers him Alexa's bed for the night, or to drive him home. 

They don't live in a neighborhood filled with photographers the way Nick does, but Harry thinks it's probably better for him to actually go back to the house tonight, even though he'd rather stick close to people he knows he can trust. He's still not sure who would have sold such an awful story, but it's probably best at this point to just be a lot more careful about who he talks to. 

He thought he already had been. 

~*~ 

All the lights are on at the house when Aimee drops him off, and Harry realises that it's not actually all that late at all. It feels like the entire house (contestants and production assistants) are in the kitchen when he walks in, and maybe it's just his imagination that everything gets quiet when he walks in. He mumbles a vague hello and waves at everyone before going up to his room and shutting the door. He'd lock it if it was just his room, but he can't lock Seann out. Maybe he'll be left alone for a while. 

After ten minutes of being alone, Harry decides it's crap, but he still doesn't want to go downstairs and talk to everyone else. Instead he calls Gemma, knowing that she'll still be awake, and that she'll understand that sometimes he just needs to hear other people talking. It makes him feel less lonely. And he hasn't spoken to her all day, just a few texts to say that he was still alive. 

"You okay?" Gemma asks when she picks up the phone. "Mum said you sounded sad." 

Harry shrugs even though he knows she can't see him. "I'm okay." It's not entirely a lie, but it's pretty fucking far from the truth. "Tell me what you're doing at work." 

She hums a bit, and then starts talking about Mel and her new article pitches that are absolutely off the wall and insane, and how none of the editors have approved a single one all week. 

"Beading, Haz. She thinks hobby beading is in again, and has five hundred words on the subject. This isn't a hobby magazine." 

"It's not exactly the Guardian, either." 

"Excuse you, we have some _standards_ ," Gemma shoots back. "Also she's a terrible writer, but she was at uni with our top editor so no one wants to sack her even though she has to go through fifty pitches to get one thing posted on the site. She does have a cute dog, though. A tiny pile of fluff that I want to kidnap and rescue from her terrible stories. His name is Bartholemew. Mew for short." 

"Le Mew. Like a cat. A french cat." 

"Well that fits Mel perfectly. They definitely deserve each other for that one." Gemma pauses. "Alan asked me out today." 

Harry doesn't want to hear about those things, but then his massive crush is in all the papers right now so turnabout is fair play. "You should say yes, you like him." 

"I like him as a friend. I don't know if I want to date him. He's a bit mental." 

"Try it anyway," Harry advises. As if he should be the one giving advice right now. He'd gone on telly because he fancied a presenter, and now look where he is. "But you don't have to listen to me, I don't know anything really." 

"Are you really sure you're okay? I can get a taxi to yours for the night. If you're at the house?" 

"I'm here. But stay where you are and cuddle Olivia for me. I'll cuddle Seann. Look for the details in the Sun tomorrow." 

There's a long pause. "Was it. Do they think it was one of the others who said those things?" 

"I don't know, no one knows yet, or if they do they're not telling me." Harry bites his lip. "I just don't think it could be anyone else. Johnny wouldn't. You and mum and Robin and dad wouldn't. Nick's friends don't need the cash. And they love him too much anyway. They just wouldn't. I don't know." 

"They'll figure it out." She's trying to be comforting, but it doesn't have the same ring to it when it's over the phone, and not from right next to him on the sofa in her tiny flat. There's a crash in the background and Gemma swears under her breath. "Olivia's in the kitchen. Do you want me to call you back once I get her out of the pots?" 

"No, go on, play with the kitten." Harry taps his fingers against his leg, wondering if he should tell her, before he decides _fuck it_. He needs someone on his side. "There's going to be more stories about me. Next few days I think. With Lauren." 

"You're not." Beat. "Are you?" 

"No, I'm not. It's just. They want to smooth over the thing from today and this is how to do it. Protects Nick, too. I don't like it, but it's not like it's difficult? I just. I didn't want to have to do anything like this. I wouldn't but it's not just about me." 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I told you you should audition." 

Even now, Harry can't regret that part. He's fallen in love with performing again, and he'd really missed it. "I'm not. Even if it's shit this week." 

"Good. Because I like watching you and I don't want to feel guilty about it. Now I've really got to go, she's yowling. Love you." 

She hangs up before Harry can respond, and he feels at least a bit lighter. 

~*~ 

Some time later Seann comes in and hands Harry a bottle of water. 

"Though you might want something to drink. And vodka's not a great option when we've got work in the morning." 

Harry takes it and downs about half of it in one go. "Thanks. Didn't want to go downstairs." 

Seann doesn't ask the usual question, which is nice. "Have you talked to Nick?" 

"Some. I don't know how much I really can, right now. I still want to crawl into his bed and stay there. But I've got a job to do, and so does he, and today's been complete crap." 

"Felt wrong doing the group number without you there today. The had Anton fill in your parts, and the whole thing sounded terrible." Seann pauses. "Do you think he — I mean he had that thing with Nick when he got tossed out." 

"I don't know. Can we not talk about it? I think I just want to sleep." 

"Sure. We'll be downstairs if you feel up to it. _Don't Tell the Bride_ is on and you know that's Lauren's favorite." 

Harry doesn't want to speak to her just yet. He has no idea if she's agreed to the whole charade, but he definitely doesn't want to be the one to ask her about it, nor does he want to talk to anyone about today. And he's got a pile of music recommendations from Nick to go through. 

"I'll be fine. Better after I sleep I'm sure." 

Seann nods, and once he leaves Harry strips down to his pants and climbs into bed. 

~*~ 

This time when Harry wakes up, he expects to be in all the headlines. He ignores all his texts, because all the important people know that this is happening, and that it's not really his fault that it is. 

Everyone is quiet at breakfast, but Lauren gives him a sad smile when he catches her eye, so that's something at least. There's three more days of rehearsals, and then they have a few days off rehearsing that have been packed full of signings and promo appearances, and then they're leaving for Aberdeen, and then Harry's not going to have a moment free for about two months. 

In the van on the way to the studio Harry uses the time to check and see what the articles actually say. _No hard feelings after Harry's elimination; the pair have grown very close while rehearsing for the X Factor Live tour, it's rare to see them apart when they have time._ Everything is vague enough that it can be re-constructed into the idea that they're dating, even if it's not true. Harry had never resented Lauren for moving on to the finals while he'd gone home, they do spend a lot of time together, because they all do, and very few people can understand what it's like to be in the pressure cooker that is the X Factor live shows. And then coming back together to prep for the live tour. They have to get along, or they'd all kill each other. 

He still feels awful about it, about dragging her into this mess with him and Nick, but she just seems resigned to it when he manages to get a moment alone with her between tech resets. 

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks. 

She just shrugs. "It's helping all of us, innit?" 

Harry pretends not to see one of the production assistants taking their photo from halfway across the room. "I'm glad they actually asked you. There's nothing in the paper but speculation and our official headshots, so I wasn't sure." 

"Not exactly a chore to hang out with a guy I like and go shopping," Lauren smiles. "And if it'll get people off your back about who you'd rather be shagging then I'm good." 

Harry smiles, a weight off his shoulders. Lauren's always been a good one. Someone calls time on the break and Harry puts an arm around her shoulder, thinking that he might as well go in on this thing if it's okay with her and a help to him. "Time to smash it." 

"Let's do this," she says. 

~*~ 

There's a wall of photographers waiting outside the house when they all get back, and Harry makes sure to walk behind Lauren when they go in, even if they both go separate directions as soon as they're inside the house. Harry needs to call his mum, who has been sending him worried texts all day. He needs to text Aimee, who's bugging him to put together a list of songs for him to perform when they start gigging. He wants to text Nick, but he's been silent all day, probably giving Harry the space he'd asked for but desperately doesn't want. 

He holes up in his room and calls his mum first. 

She offers yet again to come down for the weekend, but Harry really doesn't want her here, too. By the time she ends the call he feels worse than he has all day, but only because she's feeling terrible and he hates that he's the one doing that to her. 

He texts Aimee that he wants to sing classic Bieber because he can't make up his mind, and the only songs he can think of right now are the ones he's been hearing all day, every day, for the last few weeks. _I'm doing my full X factor set_ , he says. _Nothing else_. 

A moment later he sends, _No really I can't make any decisions right now._

She sends him back a row of middle finger emojis and then a wink, and Harry is, for the thousandth time, glad she's in his life. 

Downstairs, everyone is bustling around in the kitchen heating up food for dinner and laughing, and Harry grabs a beer from the fridge and tries to join in on the theory that if he pretends everything's fine for ten minutes, maybe it will be. Maybe plastering a smile on his face really will make him feel better. 

They watch Celebrity Big Brother as a group before splintering off for some minimal private time. Harry's managed to end up next to Lauren, and he knows someone is going to get a picture of them to send to Simon, even though they're not actually touching and she hugs a pillow to her chest the whole time. Whatever good feeling he'd managed to cobble together over dinner evaporates when a picture from Meghan hits his twitter feed. _Couple time_ , it says. He doesn't think they look anything like a couple, but he's not the PR expert, so he can't really say what will or will not work, in the end. 

Once in bed he slowly types out a text to Nick, holding his phone close over his face. _Is it always this crap?_

He stares at the words for a few minutes, listens as Seann starts snoring across the room, and then slowly and carefully hits the delete button, watching the message disappear letter by letter. He nearly types _I miss you_ in its place, but thinks that's probably a bit too much. 

~*~ 

For the third morning in a row, Harry wakes up to a rash of notifications and screencaps of headlines about him. 

It's his five minutes of fame, apparently. He's going to use up every single bit of it this week with the false, salacious details of his life being published everywhere, and then he'll sink into obscurity and go back to his barrister training. Make his living that way. Marry someone nice who isn't Nick, have a few kids, and when he's feeling nostalgic he'll look back and remember those few months when he was friends with Nick Grimshaw off the radio and telly. 

At least this time he's awake when Meghan comes in. She's got a sad look on her face. "Simon wants to see you again." 

Harry just nods and rolls out of bed and goes to take a shower. 

They haven't taken his phone this time, so at least he'll be prepared when he goes in for his meeting. 

_**Simon Scorned**_ , the headline from the Mirror reads. _**X Factor boss can't sign break-out star.**_

It really isn't Harry's week, this week. He'd only told a few people about Simon's offer — his family. Nick. Aimee and Mairead since they were competing with it — even though he thinks most people would have guessed that he'd made one. He can feel the frown setting in as he reads on. 

> _Cowell made the offer immediately. A source close to the singer told us the promise of a luxury flat and an album ready to go in time for Christmas wasn't enough to tempt Styles, even though he didn't win X Factor's top prize._
> 
> _Simon is absolutely furious that Styles has turned him down. "Cowell knows a good thing when he sees it," a source says. "He knows that Harry's going to be absolutely huge in a year or two, and he's been cut out. His staff have taken to hiding from him whenever Harry's name comes up."_
> 
> _Styles, 22, seems to want more than the flat and the payday. "He wants to be a credible artist," a friend of Styles told the_ Mirror _exclusively. "Wants to take his time and make the record he wants to make. He's very grateful for what Simon has done for him, but he saw the writing on the wall with Liam Payne, and decided that he wanted to go in a different direction."_
> 
> _Liam Payne was the winner of X Factor in 2010, and released an album a year later that went as high as #3 in the charts, and his single_ What Makes You Beautiful _was a smash hit around the world. His follow up album failed to impress, and didn't even crack the top ten with any of its three singles._
> 
> _If that's the future Styles was looking at, it's no wonder he's opted to try something new._

Harry desperately hopes Liam Payne doesn't see this article, but it's probably too much to hope for, given that every single paper and gossip outlet seems to have picked up the story from the _Mirror_. He really wants this week to just end already. 

~*~ 

"It seems that we have yet another problem," Simon says. He's alone this time, which makes his office slightly less intimidating. Of course the look on his face is anything but gentle. He passes a piece of paper over to Harry. "You did sign a confidentiality agreement when you turned down my offer." 

He's passed over a copy of that same agreement, with Harry's own signature and the date from a few weeks ago. 

"The question is," Simon continues, without waiting for Harry to say anything," who did you talk to." 

"No one," Harry says, "I didn't tell anyone. Except —" 

He had told his family what was in the offer. And he'd sketched out the outlines of it to Nick and Aimee and Mairead in their meetings before Christmas. But they hadn't seemed surprised to hear those details, like they'd expected it. And Harry vaguely remembers that others have been giving highly publicised deals in the last few years, too. Ella Henderson who had gone out earlier than Harry, even. 

"My family wouldn't sell this," Harry says. "They wouldn't." 

"Not even if they feel the need to even the score?"

"What…no?" His mum might feel bad about the mess with Lauren, but she wouldn't sell him out to the papers. She knows what he'd signed, because he had shown her the contract over Christmas. 

"This week isn't good, Harry." Simon is looking him directly in the eye, but Harry can't quite meet it. He looks at the bridge of Simon's nose, instead. Less intense, but Simon probably can't tell. Someone had taught him that trick in school, and it's worked wonders for Harry ever since. "There's been a lot of stories about you this week, and it reflects badly on everyone." 

"I didn't want any of this, I promise," Harry says. "My mum's seen your offer, but she's the only one. I told Aimee you'd made one, but never told her the details of it." 

"Aimee Phillips?" 

"She's my manager," Harry says. "She has a right to know any business offers I receive. And Nick, I guess. He's the one who introduced us." 

Simon hums and turns to type something on his open laptop. "I'm well aware of Ms. Phillips connection to Nicholas." 

"They wouldn't sell me out like this," Harry argues, thinking that he's said something wrong. 

"Of course not." Simon just sounds patronizing now, though. "You can go. Meghan will drive you back to the house. Don't forget rehearsals." 

He goes back to his computer, and Harry takes his cue to leave, slipping out of the office as fast as he can without running. He's definitely said something wrong, but he doesn't know what it is. 

Meghan leads him out to the car without talking, and drives Harry back to the studio where everyone else is sitting around waiting for him. They're supposed to do a full technical rehearsal today, and a full dress rehearsal tomorrow, before having the weekend off. They leave for Aberdeen on Tuesday. 

Aimee's text just says _call me_ , so Harry does. 

"Are you on your own?" she asks right away. 

"No? I'm at the studio, we've got rehearsals all day." 

"Fuck. We need to talk." 

"You're not dropping me, are you?" Harry's suddenly afraid that he's become more trouble than he's worth as a client. If Simon is that mad about losing him he'll probably take Harry back, but it will be a much worse offer, to be sure. 

"God, no. Just. I need to talk to you about what's been happening all week." 

"You know who talked? Both times?" 

"Yeah, I do. I'm picking you up when you're done, we'll get dinner and drinks. Just us." 

Harry wants to say that she can invite Nick along, but that's probably a bad idea. After everything, there's probably going to be someone following Nick, just waiting to catch him out. Instead, he just says, "fine. Sure. If everything works we could be done for lunch." 

"I'll clear the day," Aimee says. "Just call me, and don't talk to anyone about this mess." 

Harry agrees and hangs up, and goes back to Jeffrey to be fitted with his sound pack. The faster they finish this, the faster he can get out and have Aims tell him exactly what's been happening to him this week. 

~*~ 

"This conversation has a one-drink minimum _,"_ Aimee says, passing over a cocktail. Harry's not sure what it is, but it's a mint green color. He tastes gingerly and finds that it's fruity and sour and sweet, and he likes it a lot. "Tell me how you're holding up while you drink it." 

"I'm okay, I think." Harry takes another gulp of it. It goes down easily, hardly burning at all, even though it's strong enough that he's feeling the buzz already. Maybe it's just how exhausted he is. "I expected press like there was during the show. People wanting to know what I'm buying at Tesco. That was fun. This is just. I probably should have expected it. I try not to read the Sun or the Mirror or any other tabloids, but they're hard to avoid." 

"That's why people sell to them," Aimee says. "Most people know that the papers are just looking for big shock headlines, but it doesn't stop people from remembering it later." 

"So they'll remember that I'm trying to fuck my way to the top. With Nick," Harry says, suddenly sad. He's never been a sad drunk, and he's not even drunk yet.

"They'll probably remember that you were in the papers a lot this week, but that might be it. Depends on how vindictive Simon decides to be once the tour is done and you're releasing music." 

"Simon? All of this is about him, too." 

"Just gulp down the rest of that thing, and I'll tell you. I'll get us another round. Bottoms up, Harold." Aimee stands and goes over to the bar, and Harry drinks his as fast as he can. He ends up with brain freeze, clutching at his head for a minute, and Aimee laughs at him when she comes back. 

"Maybe I should have gotten us shots." She hands over a fresh drink and some water. "To keep you from the inevitable hangover tomorrow." 

"Nothing makes sense," Harry says. "That first article. No one I know would have —" 

"Yeah, they would," Aimee interrupts. "I got Gellz to dig around a bit, and we found where that first story came from." Aimee drums her fingers on the table. "It was Simon, Harry." 

Harry just stares at her for a minute, then takes another gulp of his drink. The brainfreeze returns, but this time it's a reflection of what he's feeling. "What?" 

"One of his assistants sent that email. Heather, I think her name is. At least, the email came from her account. It probably was just Simon, though." 

"Why would he? I'm one of his artists right now, I'm on his tour. He said. He said it looked bad for them, too. He had his solicitors in that meeting. They — they were going to find out who said it. That it would hurt ticket sales for the tour." 

"They're having you clean it up nicely, aren't they? All those pictures with Lauren. They already knew how to clean up their own mess." 

"But why?" Harry just can't wrap his head around the whole thing. 

"Because he's furious that you won't sign with him. That Nick introduced you to me, to Mairead, and he helped you find your way out of Simon's little popstar factory." 

"Today's headline," Harry says slowly, drawing a line in the condensation on his glass. "You. You sold that one." 

"Absolutely," Aimee says, a hint of remorse in her voice. "I'm sorry you got called up for that one, but we couldn't not. Nick's got a friend at the Mirror, so I had a chat with him last night. It looks like crap right now, but when it comes time to shop around music for you, the right people will know what's happened. We won't have any trouble selling you as an artist later on." 

"But Nick…" 

"He's fine," Aimee says, waving her hand. "Better once I told him what I'd found. Don't forget, he's been in this game a long time, he knows what these fights are really about." 

Harry sips his drink in silence, then sips his water. He wants to be completely plastered, but he does have to work tomorrow, and rehearsals will be shit if he's hanging. "This is so fucked up." 

"Welcome to showbiz," Aimee says. "Another day, another scandal. It'll blow over." 

"Doesn't feel like it. And I've still got to go out with Lauren on Saturday." Beat. "What do I tell her?" 

"Nothing." Aimee finishes her drink. "I mean, you can if you want, I'm not going to swear you to secrecy, but it'll probably be easier if she just thinks she's helping a friend out of a jam." 

"He'd kill me if I quit now, wouldn't he?" Harry says, even though he's never wanted anything more. He's sure Aimee could find some reason to get him out of it. 

"Want my advice?" She doesn't wait for him to answer. "Concentrate on the performances. Things are fucked, but the stage is still the stage, and your fans have paid good money to see you perform. Or to come meet you at the signings you'll no doubt be doing every other day. Do it for them. And then when it's over, walk away and never look back. We'll keep you from going on X factor in the future, or any of Simon's million other shows. Luckily for you American Idol is ending." 

Harry breathes. The drinks are going to his head and things are starting to look fuzzy, but he trusts Aimee now. She's not sugar-coating anything, not trying to get him to march in line for her. He can do this. 

"Okay," he says. "Okay." 

"Let's eat, then. I'll take you back when we're done." 

~*~ 

Harry takes Aimee's advice to heart and throws everything into his dress rehearsal. If he closes his eyes, he can almost remember what it felt like to be on stage with White Eskimo, way back at Holmes Chapel Comprehensive, singing with everything he had just because he wanted to. Just because he could, where there was nothing more serious than a cheap plastic trophy on the line. It's the only way he's going to get through the day, and then the weekend. Seann sticks with him most of the day, which is nice. Harry wants to tell him what's been happening, just to have someone he's working with daily on his side, but he doesn't. Just answers with a quick _yes_ when Seann asks about Simon's offer. Seann seems to get the message and he doesn't ask anything else. 

They all go out as a group for drinks after to celebrate. Harry is probably on the wrong side of tipsy by the end of the night, but he's trying to pretend like nothing at all is wrong. No one else seems to think he's acting odd, so there's that. 

~*~ 

Saturday dawns bright and too early, even though it's nearly ten by the time Harry is awake. They must have forgotten to close the curtains before they fell asleep last night, because there's a beam of sun in Harry's face when he opens his eyes. Seann is still fast asleep in his bed on the other side of the room, and it doesn't look like Mason even came home last night. Harry wants to just roll over and go back to sleep, but he's supposed to go out shopping with Lauren around lunchtime, and he needs to shower and get something to eat before he even contemplates leaving the house. He's fairly well practiced at going out with a hangover, but that doesn't mean it isn't complete crap. And it's going to be even worse for him today because they'll have to smile for the cameras and take pictures with fans they meet. He's been told that a few will be tipped off about where to find them. 

He takes a long shower, immensely glad that the house has a seemingly endless supply of hot water because he stands with his face in the spray for a good five minutes, letting it ease the tight headache that's got hold of him. At least everyone knows not to touch his bananas, they're fantastic for hangovers. 

Seann's waiting when Harry comes out of the bathroom half-dry. 

"Sit down," he instructs Harry, pointing at his bed. He's holding a little tube of something. "Your eyes look like shit. I'm going to fix it for you." 

"What…?" 

"Concealer," Seann says, tilting Harry's head back. "I borrowed it from Louisa. Bit pale for you generally, but you need some heavy work today. Your eyes make you look fifty." 

"Thanks?" Harry says, only half-sarcastic. Every one of those extra thirty years are pressing down on him right now. His back is aching because he's not been able to relax all week. His head is pounding again because he hasn't had time to take anything for it yet, and he's got an hour or so before he has to go out for the day. 

It's relaxing to have Seann work on his face. He dabs on bits of cool liquid and then spreads it out with his fingers, brushing on bits of powder after to make it set, taking his time until he announces that Harry resembles a functioning human again. 

"Now you only look thirty," Seann tells him before sending him downstairs to have breakfast. 

~*~ 

Any thoughts on what you want to buy today?" Harry asks Lauren, who is the only other person awake in the kitchen. She's got a bowl of cereal in front of her, and looks fresh faced and great, despite how many shots he'd seen her knock back last night. 

"Dunno. New bag or something? The point isn't really buying though is it?" 

"True," Harry agrees, peeling his banana. "I want to see what fruits there are. Oranges, maybe." 

"Could do that whole orange smile thing like we're kids again," Lauren says. "Would look great in the pictures." 

~*~

They go to the fruit and veg stands first, where Harry buys an outrageously expensive basket of strawberries along with two oranges that he has cut into sections. He holds out both to Lauren, who takes a strawberry first. There's a security guy trailing them, and a photographer standing down the street with a huge lens pointed right at them. Harry does his best to ignore him as they make their way through the food section and into the new goods and fashion stalls. 

"Need any socks? Look there's wool ones. Scotland's going to be freezing." Harry stops to look, for no reason other than that they're supposed to be shopping. He has to juggle the oranges and strawberries until he can pick them up and show them to Lauren. She takes them from him and turns them over a few times before deciding not to, and puts them back. The girl behind the booth starts to make them a better offer to get them to stop and actually buy something, but Harry's not really in the mood for it so he moves away, and Lauren follows. 

"Could use a new handbag, I think," she says. "Might as well get something I actually need." 

"Handbags it is, then," Harry says. "I think they're down this way?" 

She takes another strawberry and moves off, the photographer waiting for them to pass before following after. 

They've just arrived at the booth when there's a quiet throat-clear next to Harry's shoulder. 

"Excuse me?" It's a young girl, maybe thirteen, and Harry sees a woman who must be her mother hovering over her left shoulder. "Are you Harry Styles?" 

Harry may be really annoyed and angry about having to do this whole thing today, but this girl is really young and tiny and she's obviously a fan and just wants a chat and a picture. Harry wonders if they've been following him for a while, while the mum convinced her to come say hello. He feels too tall by half, but she's too tall for him to crouch down without looking like a total weirdo, so he just sort of slouches. 

"What's your name, love?" 

"Adriana," she says, blushing. "I can't believe I met you, I loved you on X Factor." 

Aimee was right, this part of the job is what he loves, what he's good at, no matter how he ended up in this particular place at this particular time. 

"Thank You. You remember my mate Lauren? She was on the show, too." 

Adriana makes a noise that can only be described as a squeak, and then turns more red. "You were my favorite?" she squeaks at Lauren. Lauren full on beams at her, and it's fun to see. "I voted for you every week." 

"So it's your fault I had to leave," Harry teases. Adriana's eyes go wide, but Harry smiles at her and offers her a strawberry. "No hard feelings, I think she's great, too." 

"Can I get a picture?" Adriana asks. "With both of you?" 

"Do you want one or one with each of us," Lauren asks. 

"Um." 

"We'll do both," Harry says. "Your mum can be our photographer." 

It takes a few minutes to get all the pictures and to sign a scrap of paper Lauren digs out of her handbag. One for Adriana and one for her best friend Jennifer, at home sick with flu. 

When Adriana and her mum have moved on, Lauren looks at the handbags for about five minutes before deciding that they don't have enough pockets. 

"How many do you need?" Harry asks. He manages to get by with just the pockets of his jeans. 

Lauren laughs at him. "As many as I can get or everything ends up in a tangled mess at the bottom. Have you ever tried to untangle headphones from hair clips in the dark?" 

Harry shakes his head and bites into his last orange wedge, and remembering their conversation from earlier, gives her an orange-peel smile. It makes her double over laughing, and Harry chews the edible part until it's just too gross and spit-y to continue, and he looks around for a bin for the chewed strawberry tops and orange peels. 

~*~ 

By the time they get to lunch, they've taken pictures with too many fans to count, a steady stream of them approaching without ever turning into a mob in the crowded marketplace, but neither of them have bought anything. Harry doesn't want to buy something new to pack for tour and then moving out of the house to …somewhere. He hasn't sorted that yet. Gemma's sofa, probably. His back is going to kill him. 

They stop for lunch at a pizza place a few streets over from the market, and the photographer isn't allowed in with them, which is nice. Harry's pretty sure he's camped outside the window, still taking pictures, but from that distance they'll be grainy and unfocused. He lets himself slump a little bit, feeling his back stretch out and relax from how he's been tense all day. 

"You all right?" Lauren asks. 

"Yeah, I'm good. You?" 

It's small talk, like they've just met and really are on a first date, but Harry has no idea what to say now that they're not focused on browsing the market. "Yeah. Going to see my mum after this, spend a night at home before we leave. I've never been gone so long." 

"How is your mum? She's not reading the papers is she?" 

"Nah, she's not bothered." 

Harry wants to ask if Lauren's going to tell her family what they're doing, and why, but it's a bad conversation topic, and now that they're sitting inside in relative privacy he's having a better afternoon. "I'm off to see Gem after this. Proper sibling bonding time before tour, though she's going to come to London and Manchester." 

"Everyone's coming to London for me. Getting as many tickets as I can to get my students in, too. Make a proper big do of it." 

"Sounds like good fun," Harry says. He looks at the menu. "Fancy a barbeque pizza? We could split one, if you want." 

"I'm getting my own," Lauren declares. "Had enough healthy eating already." 

Harry smiles at her, and he's glad she's the one in here with him. It's not that he doesn't like Louisa, but it would have been so much more awkward, he thinks. He sets his menu down, and their server comes over. 

~*~ 

The pictures from their day are up by the time he gets home from dinner with Gemma and her mates, and the one getting passed around the most is the one where he looks like a lunatic smiling with an orange in his mouth. 

~*~ 

Nick texts him just after two in the morning. Harry has to stare at the notification for a full minute before actually opening the conversation that's been stalled for days. 

_Nice smile, Styles. Real lady-killer there._

Harry bites his lip because Nick knows full well he's nothing of the sort. A second message comes through before Harry can even start to type out a reply. 

_Fancy dinner at mine on Monday before you leave to be a popstar?_

He should probably say no, because he's already gotten shit over how much time he spends at Nick's. But then again, he knows where the story came from now, and he really wants to see Nick before he leaves. And he's missed Pig. 

_Sounds good_ , Harry sends back, not regretting it at all. 

~*~ 

By the time they're finished with the photoshoot Monday afternoon, Harry is about to vibrate out of his skin. Someone had decided that the photos and video they'd done for their tour intros weren't good enough, so they'd had to re-shoot half of it. Harry, Anton and Fourth Impact, anyway. Everyone else was already perfect it seemed. So mostly he'd just ended up at the studio by himself for hours while all the reshoots were done, pored over and declared good enough. Being a singer, Harry was learning, required a lot of waiting around in random rooms. 

At least he had his phone and Radio 1 to listen to. 

As soon as he'd been excused, he left without even giving the clothes back. He liked the shirt he was wearing, sheer black mesh in the front, solid enough that it only showed up as sheer when the light was directly on him. He hoped Nick would appreciate it, and wardrobe would either let him get away with it or text him later when they were cleaning up to get it back. They were welcome to throw out the old white t-shirt he'd been wearing before they'd made him change. 

The cab from the studio to Nick's flat takes forever and cost twice as much as Harry was expecting. Partly because they'd hit traffic, but also because he had no idea where they'd been all day, having been half asleep in the car on the way over, eyes closed and Nick's voice in his ears as he'd leaned against the van window and drifted in and out of a doze. 

Now, Harry's the furthest from sleepy he thinks he's ever been — including his X Factor audition — by the time the taxi pulls up in front of Nick's flat. The light above the door is on, but the flat looks quiet otherwise. Harry knows the deception that is Nick's front door well, because all of the communal space is in the back, but it doesn't stop him from vacillating wildly between wondering if he got the day wrong, and hoping that it's just going to be the two of them for a quiet night in, the way they haven't done since that first article had been published. 

Both options are discarded as Harry descends the steps and starts to hear music and chatter filtering out through the door. He hadn't expected a party, hadn't brought anything with him. He could nip down to the store on the corner and get a bottle of wine, but then he'd lose time he could be spending with Nick and his friends. 

Instead, he rings the doorbell, and shifts nervously back and forth on his feet until he nearly trips himself without moving just as the door opens. 

Nick's smile is warm, and his hug is even warmer. Harry tucks his face into Nick's neck and lets Nick hold him close for a few seconds. "You're late," Nick says. "We expected you an hour ago." 

"Got stuck in re-shoots all day," Harry said. "Left as soon as I could. Didn't even give my shirt back." 

Nick looks him up and down, eyes lingering over the sheer tease of the shirt. "Cynthia's got good taste," he says. "I'd steal that too if it were me." 

"Maybe you still can," Harry says, trying to leer back at him. It probably comes out wrong though, because Nick just bursts out laughing. 

"Come on, I think you need that drink." 

~*~ 

Inside, Harry finds everyone who he'd expected to find, really. Aimee and Ian, of course. Pixie and George. Gellz. Gemma's here, too, and she bounces up from where she'd been sat petting Pig to squeeze him tightly. Harry hadn't even known they'd spoken since the show finished. 

"I'm going to miss you." 

"I'm not even leaving the country," Harry says. "Except Ireland, I guess." 

"Doesn't count," Aimee says, coming up behind Harry and hugging him, too. "All the same, isn't it?" 

"Don't let Annie hear you say that," Nick says. He presses a cold glass into Harry's hand, even though he's currently being squeezed to death by his sister and his manager. 

They let go eventually, and Harry gets to taste his drink, which is sweet and melon-y, which means Midori. 

"Drink up," George tells him. "It's not a tour unless you start off with a hangover." 

"Fuck off," Harry says. "We're driving to Aberdeen tomorrow, I'm not sitting in a bus for nine hours with a hangover." 

"Sleep if off during the drive," George says. "You'll be fine once you get there." 

"Yeah, all right," Harry says, even though he has no intention of actually being hungover. He's done the hours-long bus ride after a bender, and he'd like to never do it again, thanks. He places full blame on Johnny for that student weekend to Amsterdam. 

Everyone squishes over to give him a seat on the sofa by the wall. There's a bowl of crisps and Twiglets on the table between the two sofas. Nick hasn't sat down yet, having disappeared somewhere Harry can't see him. He hasn't _left_ , it's his flat, so Harry's not worried, even if he's missed seeing Nick's face in person. 

It's comfortable company, and Harry is paying attention to Pix talking about Daisy and their holiday to Mallorca last summer when Nick comes back. He's carrying a basket that's stuffed full of brightly wrapped parcels, and he sets it down in Harry's lap. 

"Happy first tour," Nick says, smiling. "We got you a starter kit." 

"A what?" 

"Everything a young musician such as yourself needs and probably forgot to pack," George says. 

"This is…" Harry looks at the basket in his lap, and there's a card at the top addressed to him in Nick's curling writing. "Thank you. This is amazing." 

"You haven't opened it yet," Pixie says, deadpan. 

Everyone laughs, and Harry joins in, a bit unsure about what he's about to find wrapped up. 

"Go on, then," Nick says. "Go in." 

Harry picks up the card, but then Nick picks that out of his hand before he can even turn it over to get at the flap. 

"Not that one. That one stays closed until you're actually gone." 

"I thought you said this was my gift basket? I'll open what I like." 

Everyone whistles and then laughs, but Nick just tucks the card into his back pocket. Harry chooses another gift from the pile. 

He laughs when he unwraps an orange. Two. A banana bunch. "Either you know what I like or you're all being mums," he says. He sets the bananas carefully on the floor at his feet so they won't bruise, along with the oranges, and picks up the next gift. 

There's a value pack of condoms, a box of tissues, a packet of socks, and a three packets of underwear. "You move almost every day," George says. "And you will leave your pants and socks behind in the dryers." 

"I think we've got someone from wardrobe who does the laundry?" Harry's pretty sure someone will take care of that. He's got a stack of packets on logistics back in his room and he vaguely remembers a section on laundry.

"You really want someone else washing your pants?" Nick asks. 

Harry shrugs, and says thank you, and puts the packet down in the growing pile at his feet. 

The next present is a bottle of vodka as large as Harry thinks you can buy. 

"Never use the minibar," is Aimee's advice. "That'll keep you in shots and mixed drinks for a least three days." 

"Heeeeyyyyyy," Harry whines at her. He doesn't drink all that much, especially compared to some of the people he'll be traveling with, but he supposed he can share it around the bus after shows. 

There's only two things left, and the boxes are nearly identical, so he picks up the one on the left, wrapped in plain brown paper. 

Inside the box are three candles, and Harry can recognize the brand Nick has sitting on just about every flat surface in his house. He doesn't need to smell them to know that they smell lovely. 

"To make you feel at home," Nick says. "I always take one when I travel, so everything smells the same. Bit of home away from home. Thought you might like it since you're traveling just about every night." 

Harry's face grows warm, and he can't help the stupid smile he gives to Nick, dimples showing. "Thank you," he manages to choke out. The basket's been full of things that are practical and fun by turns, even if some of the gifts were a bit ridiculous. But these candles are so thoughtful and something Harry would never have thought of himself. He's willing to bet that the candles are the same scents that Nick himself has, even though the company probably makes a larger range than Nick keeps in stock. His bunk on the tour bus, his hotel rooms, his dressing room at the arenas. They're all going to smell like Nick's flat. 

"One more, then," Pixie says. "Open it up, I'm starving." 

Harry does, picking up the blue and green striped box and carefully undoing the corners of the paper. There's a plain brown box inside, and when he opens that, a dildo falls out. It's as long as his forearm and he isn't sure he'd be able to get his fist around it. 

"For nights when you can't pull," Gellz says. 

Harry is very tempted to throw it at her, but doesn't want to miss and break anything. He just drops it into the pile at his feet and buries his face in his hands while everyone around him laughs. 

~*~ 

After dinner, Harry excuses himself to Nick's bathroom to wee. It's maybe a bit weird, but he misses Nick's bedroom. He's only spent a few nights here, but his memories of it are overwhelmingly soft and warm, filtered through a rose-colored lens in his memory. There's a jasmine candle on the bedside table and Harry sniffs at it, wondering if he's got one of these in his case. He hadn't exactly been looking closely at the individual scents, earlier. 

Nick's sitting on the bed when Harry comes out. 

"Your turn," Harry says, assuming Nick's waiting for the toilet. It's only after he says it that he notices Nick's holding the now slightly bent envelope in his hands. 

"I may have lied a bit. Earlier." Nick stands and hands over the card. "You can open it whenever you like. Just like. Not in front of all my best mates. I've got a reputation as a heartless dickhead to maintain." 

"No one really believes that, you know," Harry says. He'd known that it wasn't true after working with Nick for about a week. He'd known that from listening to Nick on the radio, from his twitter and snapchat and instagram.

"Let me pretend, Harold." 

Harry takes a step closer, and Nick stays where he is. There's not room for him to back up, as he'd just been sitting on the bed, but Harry's not really fencing him in, he could move to the side and go into the loo or back out to the party. 

"Not a chance," Harry tells him. Harry shifts on his feet and shuffles closer, testing. They haven't been this close since the club two weekends ago, before Gellz had interrupted them. There's even music coming from the other room because Nick can't handle quiet, ever. Also it's a party. 

Out there. 

In here it's only slightly quieter; the bedroom door isn't closed, but it still feels worlds away, and it's just the two of them in here right now. Harry takes the card from Nick and sticks it in his own back pocket for safekeeping, and then moves closer still, until his toes are bumping up against Nick's, and only the thinnest strip of empty air is between them. He sets a hand on Nick's shoulder, close to his neck, where it'd be so easy to just slide his hand up to cradle Nick's head. 

"Nick." There's nothing else to say. Nick is barely an inch or two taller than Harry, but from this close in he has to look up to meet Nick's eyes. 

"Harry," Nick almost-whispers. He's incapable of being quiet. "You're leaving in the morning." 

"Not forever. Two months. And I'll be in London for shows at some point." 

"You should come to my show when you get back." Nick bites his lip. "On the tour. I mean." 

Harry can't stand it anymore, can't be this close to Nick with an interruption threatening any minute, and not go for it. If this is all a mistake, he has two months of traveling for both of them to get over it before he has to come back to London and work with Nick's best friend. He moves his hand exactly where he'd been thinking about and leans in for a kiss. 

It's fast but not soft. He's not looking for a quick, chaste kiss; he wants so much more than that. He tries to tell Nick as much without words. Direct and firm. Nick's lips are warm and smooth, and Harry stays pressed up against him for somewhere around two seconds before pulling back just far enough to see his face. 

Nick's gone sort of cross-eyed, but his face is soft, and he doesn't look surprised or shocked. This time when Harry leans in, Nick goes with it. Tilts his head to line their lips up better and opens up to Harry when he asks. Nick tastes like the beef wellington they'd just had for tea. Harry probably still does as well, so at least he's not alone in that. He leans into Nick's space even more, presses Nick against the edge of the bed and leans against him, feeling the baby-soft hair at the nape of Nick's neck between his fingers. Nick's fingers move to Harry's hips and hold tight as they keep going. 

The song changes over and neither of them move or pull away. 

Kissing Nick is nothing like Harry had imagined. Nick is vocal still, can't be quiet even when his mouth is occupied, and his arms wrap around Harry like he's nothing. It's not perfect, they've bumped noses a few times and Harry stood on Nick's toe on accident until he'd had to pull it back and had ended up hitting the bed with his heel. 

It's probably the best kiss of his life. 

Harry eventually pulls back and leans his forehead against Nick's, smiling. "I've wanted to do that forever." 

"I know," Nick says. He's smiling. "Everyone knows." 

Harry can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. Walking onto the X Factor stage with nothing but nerves and a crush on Nick feels so long ago. 

"No. I mean yes. But like. It's been different since I got to know you." Harry takes a deep breath. It's his last night in London for ages. He's going all in. "You aren't a celebrity crush anymore. You're just Nick. A good friend. A best friend. Who I could fall in love with." 

"Harry." 

"From like, week three of X Factor." 

Nick doesn't say anything else, and Harry searches his face for an answer. _Fuck_ , maybe he shouldn't have said anything about love just yet. It's not like he'd said he was in love though. He just hopes Nick isn't getting so stuck on the word that he forgets the context. 

"I just. I needed to do that before I didn't see you for ages," Harry says. He takes half a step back, but Nick's hand doesn't move from his hip — god his arms are long. Harry needs to cut off that thought before it goes anywhere else right now. "Come on, there's a party on." 

Nick's hands finally fall away and Harry moves towards the door back to the living room. 

~*~ 

The time between Harry leaving Nick's bedroom and Nick coming back into the party feel like forever to Harry, but the reality is that it's probably just about two minutes, a perfectly normal time for one person to have a wee on their own. Now that they've all eaten, everyone is sort of sprawled out on the floor or on the sofas and chairs, relaxed and chatting. There's a spot open next to Harry, but there's also two chairs and the arm of the opposite sofa, next to Pig, open. 

Nick sits next to Harry. Not directly against his side, but closer to Harry than to Ian on his other side. 

Harry's hesitant to call it a victory, so he settles for calling it _nice_. He's always liked having Nick next to him, so he can go for that. He slouches a bit more, not difficult given that he's already half-sliding off the sofa, and lets his shoulder fall against Nick's, who doesn't move away. 

The exodus out of Nick's flat starts somewhere around eleven thirty, which is way past the time Nick says he likes to sleep on a school night. But not nearly as late as Harry knows he sometimes stays out when things are happening. Pixie and George are the first to leave, sleepily bundling themselves up in jackets and stumbling out the door with muttered goodbyes. After that it's like the flood starts. Daisy gathers up all her various dessert pans and utensils. Gellz packs up leftovers for her flatmate who couldn't make it. (And because Nick hates leftovers.) Ian's mostly asleep with Pig in his lap, so she has to be moved before they can leave, too. 

Harry's spent the last half hour (or however long it's been since he finally got to kiss Nick) in a state. He's not precisely horny, just warm and comfortable and up for it, if the night keeps going the way he wants. He and Nick have both slumped closer together Harry can feel Nick shake when he laughs, which is often. He can feel the deep vibration of Nick's terrible singing voice too, or at least he imagines he can. 

He stays where he is and watches Aimee and Ian getting themselves together through half-closed eyes, content to just wait for them to be on their way home before he says anything else to Nick. Maybe gets a response about accidentally letting the L-word slip out. 

Aimee's zipping up her puffy faux fur coat when Nick gently shakes Harry's shoulder and holds out a hand. "Come on, Haz. You should leave with them." 

"Wha—?" Harry can't make his mouth work properly. "I mean— I can't. I mean. Can I stay?" 

"It's probably not the best idea," Nick says. His voice is gentle, like he's trying to placate Harry, who wasn't upset in the first place. He's starting to be, though. "For both of us." 

"I don't care. Fuck Simon." Harry can hear the petulance creeping into his voice, but he really doesn't care. He thought that maybe they were finally getting somewhere, and he'd thought Nick was there with him. 

"Haz. We know what happened, but it's not going to change that the story is out there. People aren't going to forget it quickly. I'm glad you came, but you should leave with Aims. I don't know if there's anyone outside, but there could be." 

Nick looks sad, and sounds tired. So Harry takes his hand to pull himself up and go get his coat. 

Nick hugs him at the door, his long arms wrapped around Harry through too many layers of thick fabric.

"Don't be a stranger, yeah? Call me if you need to talk or anything." 

Harry nods, not wanting to speak. Eventually Nick lets go first, and Harry bends down to give Pig one last pet and grab his gift basket. 

There's a minicab waiting for them up on the street already, and Harry just piles in with Aimee and Ian even though their house is in the opposite direction of Harry's. They don't live far and it's just easier. And Harry is tired. At the very least Nick isn't cutting him off completely, so that's something. 

Every light is on at the X Factor house when Harry gets back, and there's music and shouting coming from inside. Harry plasters on a smile and makes a run for his room so he can hide some of the things in his basket (the dildo and value bottle of lube) before everyone else can get to them. 

And at least he doesn't have to do his last-minute packing in the dark. He needs to make sure his new candles are safely packed in his bag. 


	4. Chapter 4

Harry had thought he was used to long drives and trains; going back and forth from Holmes Chapel to Brighton usually took four hours at least. But it's nothing compared to the drive from London to Aberdeen. They stop off at a service station just north of Manchester to refuel the busses, and Harry wanders into the shop just for something to do more than anything. There's a few papers that still have his face on the covers, which takes some getting used to. _Heat_ has the orange photos with Lauren. But others are still running stories about him and Nick, since their issues went to press before his date on Saturday. 

He ends up picking up a bruised-looking banana and a single pack of cereal with a mini carton of milk and then picks up _Heat_ to see what it says while he waits in the queue. He's behind Reggie, who is buying little souvenir keychains for his kids. 

The article is exactly what Harry expects: lots of leading language to get the readers to make the right conclusions, backed up with quotes from sources that Harry's pretty sure are one of the Simons. It's still awkward to see it happening from the outside, since it's supposedly about him. Some version of him that doesn't really exist. 

Reggie sees what Harry's looking at when he turns away with his bag. 

"I didn't know you and Lauren —" 

Harry cuts him off before he can get any more out. "We're just friends," Harry says, firm. "She wanted a handbag and I wanted to get out of the house, that's all." 

He gets a grin that's half-leer back. "Could invite her on our bus," Reggie says. "We wouldn't mind." 

Harry just shakes his head. "Think she'd rather settle into her own right now," Harry says, having no idea if it's true. He should probably ask Aimee how to handle the other people on the tour, who haven't been drawn into the mess. "It's going to be a long two months if you hate your bunk." 

"Yeah yeah, that's true." 

Harry steps up to the counter and pays for his breakfast snacks even though it's closer to lunch. He didn't eat much on the way out, and the fruit from his basket has been packed away in his case under the bus, because he'd been half awake and not thinking when he'd tossed his suitcase and one of his weekend bags under there. He's got the one with Nick's card and his candles in it with him, but his snacks and clean pants are in the other, and they won't be able to get to them until they get to their Aberdeen hotel. 

Once back on the bus Harry pours the milk into the cereal and then takes a picture and posts it to Instagram before he eats, with the caption _Tour life_. It's not all parties and sex. Or any at all, for them. They only get hotels a few times, on the nights they're not traveling between cities, per the schedule they've all been handed multiple copies of. Harry's goal for the rest of the drive is to make sure everything's in his phone just in case he loses the paper. 

He's also got Doctor Foster to watch, since he'd missed everything while doing the X Factor live shows. 

They're just pulling off the A90 and into the city itself when he texts Nick. He's been holding off for the day. Nick had told him not to be a stranger, but he'd also sent Harry out with Aimee instead of letting him stay. 

_We've arrived. Am I officially on tour when we haven't done anything yet?_

_Think it started when you got on the bus._ Nick sends back right away. _How's the hangover?_

_Don't have one_ , Harry says. _Because I am responsible and drank enough water last night._ His fingers hover over the keys while he considers typing out something about what he wishes he'd eaten last night, but he's not sure how it would be received right now. Instead, he tucks his phone into his pocket because they're pulling into the hotel, the first hotel of the tour, and Harry wants to experience this as it's happening and not be distracted by his phone while it's going on. 

He's a _singer._ On _tour_. Even if some of the circumstances are less ideal than his tiny teenaged self wanted. Nick can wait half an hour for a reply to whatever self-deprecating "joke" is about to come back to him. Harry has to hold himself back from either slapping Nick or endlessly praising him when he does that. Or both. At the same time. 

Harry drags his suitcase and bags up to the room he's sharing with Mason (Seann drew the short straw and is rooming with Anton for the tour) and opens up the three-candle set Nick had sent him. There's a Lavender one, a Cypres one that smells a bit like a sweet christmas tree, and Pomander, which is orange-y. He lights that one first, saving the lavender for when he needs to sleep. 

Mason drops his bag and leaves to do whatever it is he's always doing out of the house, but ten minutes later Seann knocks on the door and flops down onto Harry's bed. 

"Bit shit for big time popstars," Seann says. "There's not even a mini-bar." 

"I've got vodka," Harry tells him. He leaves out where it came from. "And I think I saw a Tesco on the corner for everything else." 

"It's Asda. Let's go."

~*~

There's a signing the next morning at HMV. Technically the event goes all day, divided up into sections. They'd been given a briefing on the logistics, mostly so they know where they have to be and when, but Harry had let the finer points of it escape him. 

The boys (with Anton) are up first on the premise that they don't need as much time to get ready, which is total bullshit. Harry's _lived_ with Seann. 

He'd done a few of these things before he'd been kicked off the show, and it's easy to find the pattern again. Take the poster, sign his name first thing so he doesn't get distracted talking to whoever is in front of him. Ask their name and where they're from, listen and answer any questions. There's a strict no photo policy in order to get through as many people as possible in the three hours. 

Harry knows, now, that this is the part of it that's the most exhausting, but this is the job. And this is what he wants, to meet people. To get to know his fans even if it's only for five seconds. The line slowly but surely dwindles down to nothing, and he gets bundled away from the tables just as the girls are coming in. 

There's a big cheer when he hugs Lauren, (even though he does the same with Louisa without any more reaction from the crowd), and it makes Harry's heart drop just a little bit. Lauren maybe hears it because she squeezes him tighter for half a second, _chin up_. Harry loves her so much in that moment. 

~*~

The day of the show there's more to do than Harry expected, given that they've rehearsed everything enough times that even he doesn't trip over his own feet moving around the low stairs around the edges of the main stage. Still, now that they're set up in a real venue they have to go through all the sound checks to be sure everyone's system is working properly. Then there's meet and greets with fans, A more formal meeting with the promoters and their guests, and then they barely get a breather before everyone is in place behind the set door on stage for the opening number. 

Everything rushes past faster than Harry is prepared for, and then suddenly they're finished and showering and being herded towards the busses to drive towards Glasgow and day two. 

_First night's done_ , Harry texts Aimee. _Got hit in the balls by an iphone._

_It's for good luck,_ she sends back. Also, _Wear a cup next time._

_Bring one to brighton_ , _there's not any time for shopping_ , he sends back. 

Tucked carefully inside his bag is the card Nick had given him at the party, unopened still. It's just a card, Harry tells himself. It'll have a sentence or two in Nick's loopy-messy writing; a wish for luck, a general _I'll miss you_ , probably. Harry doesn't want to read that. As long as he doesn't open it, he can let himself believe that there's a much more personal card inside. 

Instead, he texts Nick about getting hit on stage, and tries not to stare at his phone waiting for those blinking dots. 

Nick's reply doesn't come, so Harry busies himself with brushing his teeth in the tiny sink in the bathroom on the bus, and tries to decide if he wants to attempt to sleep in his tiny bunk or stay out and watch _Friends_ with everyone else. In the end he decides to sleep, which means he curls up in his bunk and texts his mum and Gemma about how it went, even if they're probably asleep or busy doing things he doesn't want to think about. 

He's just about to give up for the night when Nick texts back, finally. 

_Had no idea being a popstar was so dangerous_ , he says, adding in an aubergine and a hammer to the end of it. 

_There's fire on the stage, too_ , Harry says. He leaves off that it's not for his act, it's part of Fourth Impact's routine. His own is more to do with lasers. 

_Careful. A bit of scarring's hot, but don't want to land in A &E, do you? _

Harry has to bite his lip, and he's sure his face is doing some sort of weird acrobatics at the moment, but thankfully his curtains are closed and there's no one there to see him smiling like some sort of maniac at his phone.

Slowly, he types out a reply. _Haven't got time for that anyway. We're off to Glasgow already. Have a few days off over the weekend though_. 

It sounds like he's hoping for an invitation to catch the cheapest flight back to London for a dirty weekend when he reads it over. Or maybe for Nick to meet him halfway for the same thing before he's got to cross over to Belfast and Dublin. It's too late to change it, though and it's Valentines this weekend, which is the worst time for a first date. 

If Nick takes it that way. 

He buries his face in the pillows and waits for a reply. He's got his lavender candle out, tucked next to the pillow. He can't light it in such an enclosed space but he can still smell it when it's close. 

He falls asleep before he gets a reply. When he wakes up the next morning he's got a single notification from Nick on his phone, and it doesn't mention Harry's weird sort-of proposition at all. 

~*~

Harry had been considering taking his two days off between Glasgow and Belfast to go home and sleep in his old bed and bother his mum, but Aimee insists on meeting him in Dublin on Monday. When he turns up at the pub to meet her he figures out why: she's got Niall with her. 

"Thought I'd get started on putting together a band for you," Aimee says, once they've ordered food and pints and settled in for the night. 

Harry nods. Niall had been a perfect backing band for him that first night, keeping Harry focused and on track with the music, but not adverse to a bit of groping on stage. Harry grins at Niall, and Niall leers back. 

"Do I need to cancel one of the rooms I'd booked for you two?" Aimee asks. Harry's not quite sure if she's joking. He looks over at Niall, who's gone back to his pint without actually caring about it. 

"I'm the little spoon," Harry says. 

Niall laughs with his whole face. "Good with me." 

"That's settled, then," Aimee says. "Now if I'm going to claim this dinner back against taxes we need to do some actual work, and the agenda is just one thing: Harry, I want to start booking things in for you for when you get back, and that means putting together a band for you. I've got Niall here, who's desperate to get out of Bressie's basement —" 

"It's a fully equipped studio!" Niall protests. "It is in the basement though." 

"— But we need a few more. You okay with me hiring people you haven't met yet? I'm not dragging four people with me around the country." 

"I trust you," Harry says. And he does. He may not always know exactly what's coming, but he does trust that she's looking out for him and not herself. "Just make sure they get along with Niall and we'll be fine." 

"And can sing," Niall says. "If you want backing vocals too. Less people to drag to gigs." 

"Do you sing?" Harry asks. He only knows Niall for his guitar. 

"Went out for X factor a few years ago. Roomed with Liam Payne." 

"I was there that year," Harry said. "I don't remember you." 

"Wasn't anything special, even if I thought I was." Niall finishes his pint. "It was good fun for the weekend, and then I went home, eventually started working with Brez instead of becoming famous like you. More drinks?" 

When he's gone, Harry turns to Aimee. "Do I have to get anyone else? I like him." 

"Does Grimmy have real competition now?" 

Harry flushes bright red. He hasn't even thought about Niall as an actual boyfriend, jokes from earlier aside. "He'd do better to worry about the twenty girls that handed me valentines yesterday. There's a dozen boxes of chocolates in my bunk on the bus just waiting for me to eat them and remember the girl who gave them to me. I think one of them was a redhead?" 

"There it is," She says, bright. "Too many girls to remember. Our innocent little popstar is growing up. Everyone at home will be so proud." 

"If you don't want them send 'em to me," Niall says, setting down a fresh round of pints in front of them. 

Harry buries his head in his hands and wonders if he's made some mistakes along the way. 

~*~

Harry has no idea where Niall lives or what his job is, aside from recording things in a basement, but he turns up at the Belfast show and then sneaks onto the bus to ride back to Dublin (they do a bad job sneaking him on, everyone sees him, and his blond hair and loud laugh are pretty noticeable) where they spend the night in the lounge draining Harry's monster vodka bottle and playing increasingly terrible covers on Niall's guitar.

Niall hangs around the arena in Dublin as well, making himself at home in the shared boys’ dressing room the same way he'd done on the bus. Harry has a flash of wondering what it would be like to really tour with Niall, then realises he's hopefully going to find out. 

~*~

"Are you ever going to open that?" Alicia asks, coming back into the dressing room in Brighton. "You've been fondling it all day." 

Being back in Brighton is odd. The streets are familiar, and a lot of his friends have stuck around the city for jobs since graduation giving Harry a small taste of what his life would have been like if Nick hadn't been an X Factor judge. But it's weird to walk and drive around without a bag full of books weighing his shoulders down and attempting to give him scoliosis. To pass the chippy and not feel a twinge of guilt for skipping out on some revision for a quick and cheap meal. Harry's always loved his adopted city, but he loves it even more when he gets to see the streets without worrying about anything more than putting on a good show. 

And it's been at least two shows since he's fallen over on stage. 

"I don't want to know what it says," Harry says. 

Alicia looks at him. 

"Then throw it out?" 

"It's from Nick. Grimmy." She nods, knowingly. "I just. Don't want to be disappointed." 

Alicia looks at him, and Harry is so tired of getting _looks_ from everyone. "Look, I know you've had a thing for him for ages, but what about Lauren? I saw those pictures too, you know." 

"It's not —" damn it. Harry doesn't know how to explain the whole mess in a way that takes less than three hours. "It's not what the papers say. None of it." 

"I assume he knows that, too? Just open the bloody card." 

Harry's handled it so much that the folds are starting to give way already, the white paper inside showing through the damaged corners. It only takes a minute to split the top of the envelope open. 

_Harold,_

_I could say something about how I always knew you were amazing, ever since you walked onto stage in front of me. I could say that everyone loves you and you'll be amazing on stage. But I think you already know both those things._

_So I'll say good luck, and I'll see you when you get back. You don't get to run away from London just yet._

_— Grim_

He stays silent long enough that Alicia has to ask him if it's a bad note. Which it's not. It's more than a simple good luck wish, even if it stops short of being a love letter. He needs to read it at least twice more on his own before he can make any sort of conclusions about what Nick means. He could also call Aimee, but that might be a bit much. 

"Well?" Alicia reminds him that she's there, too. 

Harry tucks the card back into the battered envelope and back into the side pocket of his bag where it'll be safe. 

"Just a good luck card, that's all." 

She gives him another look, and really, people have got to stop doing that to him, it's getting really annoying. But the benefit of the _look_ is that he doesn't have to talk about whatever it is that's going on. Instead, he can take her on a tour of the arena and introduce her to Fourth Impact, since she took the time each week to say she was using her free votes for them, not Harry. Four for them and one for him: her five favorite people. 

~*~

By the time Harry gets back to London, all the cities they've been in blur together. The tour buses don't change, and the inside of the arenas are nearly identical by the time they get there. The dressing rooms have the same signs, the same kitchen and same tables are set up, and Sarah serves a lot of the same foods, probably because they're all terrible eaters and want nothing but burgers and chips once they get off stage. Harry tries to eat at least one of her salads per day, and he usually cleans out the fruit trays. The gifted oranges and bananas are long gone. 

Sightseeing is nearly impossible between shows and signings and travel, so it's probably for the best that Harry's been to Bournmouth and Leeds and Birmingham before. He and Seann and Lauren manage to sneak out for a curry in Birmingham, and if Harry maybe doesn't jump around as much on stage because he's still stuffed full from the buffet lunch hours later then no one has to know. He'll just say he's tired. 

Even though they're still on tour, merging onto the M25 around the city feels like coming home. He's barely lived here for a month, and not even for real with his own flat, just more time in the X Factor house. Planning not to go home to Holmes Chapel or back to Brighton when he finishes the tour in a few weeks isn't the same as having moved already. He's still living out of suitcases. 

The bus is finally quiet at the tail end of the drive in the early hours of the morning, and Harry stares at his phone too excited to sleep. They'd not left Cardiff until nearly two in the morning, and it's just coming up on five now. Too early even for Nick to be up, but Harry can't help it because Nick does have to be up soon, and Harry hasn't actually heard his voice anywhere other than on the radio for weeks. They've been texting quite a bit, usually it's Harry that starts the conversations, but they run through until Nick has to run off to do something for work. 

Maybe Harry's feeling a bit vindictive about it because he tucks himself into the corner of the bus that's farthest from the bunks and his sleeping tour-mates, brings up Nick's number and hits _call_ before he can second guess himself. 

"Hello?" 

Harry is fully unprepared for Nick's early morning voice in his ear after he's gone so long without hearing it. He's croaky and rough, his perfect radio diction just a suggestion. 

"Hi, Nick." Harry's sure he had something to say, but Nick's voice has knocked his heart around and he's having trouble remembering why he called. 

"Harry? What time is it, are you okay?" 

"Fine. Yeah. I'm fine." He pulls the phone away from his ear to look at the clock. "It's ten to five? And we're just back in London." 

Nick groans. "You know I've got to get up in a minute, yeah?" 

"I thought you wouldn't mind as much? If I called, I mean. Like Gemma doesn't have to be up for another two hours. Also I spoke to her last night. Aimee might kill me if I called her." 

"So I'm your third choice, when I could be sleeping my last few minutes of sleep before the show. It's going to be rubbish now and I'm going to let everyone know you're the one to blame." 

Harry smiles, tucking his face down towards his shoulder. God, he's missed this. "And if I wanted to hear your voice?" 

"Turn on the radio," Nick says. "I talk all day on there. It's my _job_. That I need sleep to do properly."

Harry can't help the snorting laugh that comes out. "You've been straight through crew more than once. I listened after that Beckham pants thing." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about." There's a lot of rustling and the weird squeak of Nick's living room doors that he can't get rid of no matter how much grease he pours into the hinges. "I am a very professional radio broadcaster, thank you, Harold." 

Harry wishes he could see the face Nick's making right now. Half bleary with sleep, lines from the pillows carved into his face, and half indignant disgust. Maybe a hint of fondness in there somewhere, as he hasn't hung up on Harry despite the hour. 

"Of course you are. But I know you like a good time." As soon as the words come out of his mouth Harry wants to take it back, remembering that first article that had turned everything upside down; the words burned into his brain, still freshly bruised. "Shit. I mean. Everyone likes a party. Nothing wrong with that." 

"'Course not. But it's not the BRITs. Can't claim I'm hungover from two weeks ago." 

Neither of them speak for a minute, until it gets to the point where Harry either has to hang up and never speak to Nick again, or he has to just say something and shatter the awkwardness. "You're coming to the show on Saturday, right?" 

"Of course I am," Nick says, scoffing. "I can't believe you think I'd miss it." 

"I didn't. Just —" Harry has no idea how to finish his sentence. "I want to see you, and. Our schedule is crazy the next two days." 

"I'll be there, Haz. Promise." Harry can hear the clacking of Pig's toes against Nick's wood floors. "I've got to go. Pig’s up and needs to wee before she does it all over my carpets." 

"Sure." 

"Call me later, okay? We can talk when it's not the middle of the night." 

Harry doesn't know exactly when he'll have time. He's got nothing official today, but Aimee's taking him to a party tonight, and he's got to find something to wear, which means shopping. With Aimee. Which will probably take the whole rest of the afternoon. He promises he will anyway before holding on until Nick hangs up. 

After that it's easy to drop off to sleep with the memory of Nick's voice, just for him, in his ears. 

~*~

It's after lunch by the time Harry's awake, showered and fed enough to consider leaving the bus convoy. He texts Aimee before he eats, and she's waiting for him in a car by the time he's done. 

The drive back into central London to Oxford Street goes by quickly in a rush of discussing what Harry wants to wear. 

"This is your first real event after the X Factor. You'll be on your own, and it's time to start establishing your identity as an artist. Since you're not performing tonight, it's all about how you look. I have some ideas." She pulls out her phone and starts flipping through some options. 

Harry takes it from her and goes slower, taking the time to look at each picture. "These are runway models," he says, finally taking in more of the pictures than the clothes. 

"They are, and we're not putting you in those. Except maybe if I can get something from Henry, but I don't think that's the direction you want to go." She flips to a different album and hands it over. 

"Could do that black and white jacket. Or the trousers." 

Aimee flips to something else and makes a note before handing the photos back to Harry. "I'm thinking something softer and less neon for you. You're all about classics. The pirate rocker look. But I think we can improve on it." 

"I'm all yours," Harry says, making as much of a dramatic gesture as he can in the confines of the car's backseat. 

"That's half true. I don't want _all_ of you. And I think you want to save some parts for someone else anyway." 

Harry huffs out a laugh before he can help it; at least she's not specifying which parts he wants to save for Nick. Best not to give their driver a fit in central London and kill a pedestrian. 

The nerves hit when the cabbie pulls over to let them out in front of Topshop. Since finishing X Factor, Harry hasn't been able to get through a run to the shop for crisps without having to stop and take a picture with someone. Not that he minds the attention, it's just that they have a goal, and Harry has no idea how they're going to figure out anything. 

The problem is solved for him when Aimee drags him straight through to where there's a personal shopper waiting for them. He kisses Aimee on the cheek and does a slow once-over of Harry. "I can work with this," he declares after an entire age has passed. Harry's used to people looking at him by now, but not like he's a piece of clay ready to be molded. 

"He's into the Mick Jagger look. But like, more high fashion. We're out at Chiltern tonight."

"That Love Magazine party?" Jay, his nametag says, taps his lips. "I've got some ideas, go on through." 

There's bottles of water and fruit on a sideboard next to a wall of mirrors, and lacking anything else to do, Harry takes an orange while they wait for Jay to come back. Aimee is on her phone typing furiously, but Harry can't tell if it's about him or not. 

Harry's halfway through his orange by the time Jay comes back with what looks like every dress shirt in the store, along with half a dozen trousers and pairs of jeans. 

"Get rid of the trousers. We're trying to update the seventies not the City." To Harry, he says. "Try that green spotted shirt first, it'll be good with your eyes." 

It takes two hours to get through all the selections. He finds a pair of jeans quickly, but Aimee takes her time deciding on a shirt for him. In the end, he gets a jacket over a white dress shirt printed with tiny blue flowers, and Aimee tells him they'll decide whether to button him up or leave his tits out later. 

From Topman they go to Bleach to get his hair styled, and from there back to Aimee's house to get ready. It's not until they're almost to the venue that she looks at him, taps her claws on her phone, and tells him to unbutton the shirt halfway.

"We'll both be tits out, then, see?" she shakes her chest at him to illustrate. 

~*~

When they get there, there's a backdrop and a press line and a wall of cameras (well, three, but they're standing in a row), but unlike before where Harry was just following the person in front of him, no matter where they happened to be going, Aimee directs him as if he were on a film set. 

"Hands in your pockets. Camera face, no smile for the first round of pictures. You'll pose twice then we'll move into the party, and you don't have to stop for press. You're here to be seen. And to have a good time." 

"Is Nick coming?" Harry has no idea if he's been invited to this one, but as he understands it, Nick gets invited to everything. 

"He's home tonight, I told him not to come." She bumps her shoulder into his. "Have you met Daniel?" 

Harry quickly learns that parties like this aren't about partying. There's a DJ off in the corner and there's plenty of booze at hand, but Aimee runs Harry's spot on the floor with an iron fist. She keeps a tight group of four or five people at all times, bringing new people in as soon as someone wanders off to get more drinks or pad the landing with not enough of a tiny appetizer. Harry quickly loses track of everyone's names, but he learns quickly how to spot the photographer at the edge of his vision, and to always look like he's having a great time when the camera's pointed to him. 

Aimee pulls him out a bit after midnight. He's tipsy but not falling down as they leave through the valley of long lenses and climb into a waiting car where he can slump over and let the tipsy turn into dizzy. She rubs his back as the car pulls out into traffic. 

"And to think no one thought you could handle a party like that this early," she says. "I've got great instincts." 

Harry slumps down into the seat more, his eyes getting harder to open every time he blinks. "Thanks?" 

"Go to sleep, we've got a bit of a drive to get you back to your bus, and you impressed all the right people tonight." 

Harry listens to her advice and doesn't remember anything else. 

~*~

Seann has to shake Harry awake the next morning so that he has just enough time to clean himself up before yet another fan signing. He barely has time to rinse off the booze and smoke from last night in the tiny bus shower, but even so he feels significantly less dead by the time he spills out the door of the bus and into the people carrier with the rest of the boys on the tour. 

The rest of the day feels like the rest of the tour: there's a few hours of signings, more pictures than Harry can count. They're turned loose just in time for tea, and for Harry that means catching a taxi over to Aimee's to get ready for another party.

At least this one has more people that he knows. Pixie and Jack and Daisy turn up, which means that Harry's got people he can talk to between meeting what feels like every fashion and music professional in London. He'll never remember all the names himself, but Aimee is talking to everyone like she knows them -- which she might well do -- even if Harry has seen her fake it enough times to know that it's not necessarily the case. 

In the end she ushers him out the door fairly early, all things considered, which is probably good for his voice because he's got two shows at the O2 tomorrow. She gives him a big smacking kiss on the mouth to say goodbye -- which then leaves a huge red smudge on his hand when he whipes his mouth -- as he falls out of the car and only sort of stumbles back to the busses. Not because he's drunk. Maybe he's a little bit tipsy, but mostly it's because he's ridiculously tired and he has a tendency to trip when he's not thinking about how walking works. 

Inside, he finds Anton and Mason watching Top Gear DVDs while Seann is hunched over his phone talking to someone back home. Harry just waves at them, folds up his nice, new clothing and crawls into his bunk in his pants. Then climbs back out to go clean his teeth because he's not a heathen, and bad breath in close quarters is no one's friend. 

When he's finished and climbing into bed for real, there's a pair of texts from Nick on his phone. 

_You looked good tonight. x_

_Sorry I couldn't be there. Early bed and all that. Looked like a good party._

Harry's past the point where he wants to take screenshots of every text Nick sends him, just to have an extra record and remind himself that he's not dreaming, but part of him still wonders how he ended up with Nick as someone who texts him fairly regularly. 

_Come to the next one, then._

He knows why Aimee is only taking him to the events Nick isn't going to, though he's not sure if she's just asked him not to attend or if she's picking events he doesn't want to be at or doesn't have time for. Either way, he's not there, and it makes the parties infinitely more boring, in his very limited experience. Most things in London are boring without Nick. If she's going to keep him away from Nick, the least she could do is let him bring Niall instead. Harry switches over to his conversation with Aimee and tells her that.

Nick isn't writing back right away, so Harry strips and gets ready for bed. And when he checks his phone one last time, there's nothing new there for him. 

~*~

Nick turns up halfway through the afternoon, when Harry's stuck on a press line with Mason. He can see Nick walking past the green room door, probably fails to casually lean over to the side so he can watch for just a half second longer. It's been a month since he's seen Nick in person, and to have it happen when he's here on a press line with everything he's saying and doing being recorded in at least five different ways is basically torture. He'll have to write to the Geneva convention. 

Luckily, it wraps up quickly after that: two more questions, a few hundred more photos and then he's free until the official party before the evening show kicks off. 

Harry wants to go find Nick, but the arena is pretty sprawling backstage, and he makes a wrong turn, runs into a small herd of fans and is delayed another ten minutes chatting to them and taking pictures before the security guy notices that someone (Harry) is not where he's supposed to be and escorts him back to the correct corridor of dressing rooms. 

Once he's close in it's easy to find Nick because his voice booms out of the boys dressing room, and it's only by a narrow margin that Harry prevents himself from throwing himself through the halfway open door. 

"I got lost," Harry explains even though no one's asked. He needs to fill the odd rift that'd cracked the room in half as soon as he'd walked in. "Nearly made it all the way outside, I think. Spent ten minutes taking pictures with fans before security rescued me. Thought I was one of them, I think." 

"You are not making that up, are you?" Nick asks, like he already knows the answer. 

Harry grins at him, because sometimes that's the only way he knows to communicate with Nick. 

"You all right?" Nick's just as bad as Harry, it seems. It's his _job_ to communicate effectively and carry conversations with sometimes less than willing partners (Harry really wants to see Nick go up against the Weeknd) but when faced with Harry, he just reverts back to the most basic non-question in existence. 

"I'm good, yeah. The tour's been insane, though." 

From there, Seann and Mason can jump in and take over half the conversation while Harry grabs a water from the table and sits down in the empty chair, feeling odd about taking the seat between Nick and Mason. Mason keeps looking back and forth between them even though there's nothing overtly odd happening, and Mason's the one talking to Nick right now anyway. 

The thing about living with someone on a tiny tour bus for a month is that you get really good at reading when they’re about to break. Harry can see it in Mason's face, that he absolutely needs to ask something, probably about him and Nick and all the fucking that's not actually happened yet. When Nick finishes a story about Pig finally picking up a stick too big to move at the weekend, his mouth opens and he has that look on his face, but Harry's rescued from that particular mess by Seann breezing in from his own press, heels clicking against the tile as he flies over to kiss Nick on the cheek. 

~*~

Between the two London shows, Simon throws a party at the arena. It's not quite a wrap party given that they've got another two weeks of shows, and it's definitely a work party. Harry's had a lot of practice at those recently, and this one seems to be easier because he knows most of the X Factor producers already, and Nick's here, along with everyone he's been working with the last month so there's fewer new faces, even if he has to shake just as many hands. 

Louisa is stuck by Simon's side for nearly the whole thing, being introduced to a lot of unfamiliar faces, and Harry can't think of anything but relief at how he got booted before he could win; the industry meet and greet circuit is terrible enough with Aimee by his side and her friends flitting in and out. He can't imagine what it would be like to have gone through the last few weeks with Simon instead. 

As if reading Harry's mind, Nick appears over his shoulder. 

"Bet you're glad you're not there just now," he stage-whispers. Harry doesn't think it carries around to anyone. No one's giving them any sort of look that he can see as he turns to face Nick. He finds himself standing just a little bit too close, but can't find it in himself to take a half step back to a more polite distance. Nick doesn't move either. 

"At least she can drink now," Harry says. "Had her birthday in January." 

"You'd have been fine, doing that," Nick says. "If you'd gone through the first time, or if I wasn't your brilliant mentor." 

Harry's nearly-empty cocktail is suddenly quite interesting. "Would we still be friends, do you think?" 

He's imagined probably every possible alternate universe for this question. Most of the time he winds up washed out and gigging at weddings and nowhere near London or Nick. Sometimes he lets himself dream of success, where he'd managed to make it through to the end at sixteen, where he'd been in and out of Radio 1 promoting singles and albums, where he'd met and fell in with Nick anyway. 

"I hope so," Nick says, serious as he ever gets. "I like a good pair of skinny jeans and my thighs just don't cut it the way yours do." 

Before Harry can answer, someone he doesn't know taps Nick's shoulder to get his attention, and Nick turns away to speak to him. He does introduce Harry, but their time together obviously is finished, so he wanders off to find someone else to bother. 

~*~

The shirt's been hanging on his wardrobe rack for the entire tour, but Harry's been holding out on wearing it for his set, waiting for something. Waiting for Nick to be there to see it, to see Harry in his shirt that he designed, on stage at the O2 in London. Harry inhales deeply as he pulls it around his shoulders and goes to button it up. Objectively Harry knows that Nick's never touched this particular shirt in his life, probably doesn't even know that Harry has it in his tour wardrobe. But Harry knows what Nick smells like now, can conjure it up in his mind as he gets dressed. Strong to the point of overwhelming when Nick is near, wood smoke and spice overlaid with cigarettes and sometimes vodka. 

He spends way too long trying to find the ghost of a smell that he nearly misses the ten minute call down to the stage and has to shove his feet into his boots and run out the door of the dressing room to make it to his spot for the opening number. If he's a little bit out of breath by the time he gets there, no one will know; he doesn't open the song anyway. 

On stage, Harry finds that it's jarring to perform without being able to find Nick's face in the crowd. It's not the first time he's done it, but it is the first time where he knows Nick's in the audience. He's somewhere out there, in the guest section, but Harry can't see his face. But Harry knows vaguely where the VIP box is, so he throws himself into his set, singing to where he thinks Nick is as much as he thinks he can get away with, probably to the detriment of the people in the front rows. He reaches down to wave at them when he has half a beat between lines, but when he's singing, when he's pouring all of his concentration into hitting his notes and choreography and putting on a show, he just turns back to where Nick is, unable to stop himself. 

All too soon the set draws to a close, and Harry has to clear the stage for Lauren and then Louisa. He goes back to his dressing room where he finds Nick chatting to Seann and Mason who are changing out of their stage clothes and into something more comfortable for the drive to Nottingham. 

Harry waves vaguely at the other boys but walks straight at Nick, not stopping until he can squeeze Nick's ribs tight, and feel the same answer back. 

~*~

"You are absolutely useless," Chloe says, flopping down onto the worn sofa in the corner of the studio. "You're giving me nothing. Worse than useless." 

Harry throws his notebook over to her. "You fix it then." 

It's been three weeks since Harry moved to London. Permanently, he hopes. Three weeks in which Aimee's had him running around gigging, meeting people, and attempting to write songs for her to shop around. Chloe isn't the first person Harry's sat down in a studio with, but so far Harry likes her best: she's brash and loud and creative. He'd turn over his entire album to her if Aimee let him. 

Chloe snatches up the book and starts flipping through it, pausing on some pages but not liking anything enough to stop and try to pick it up with the thread of melody they've been humming all afternoon. 

"It's your song," she says, sticking out her tongue. She's threatened to quit five times today. 

Harry stands and shakes out his hair. "Just. Give me ten minutes, okay? I'm gonna take a walk." 

She waves him out. "Whatever." 

There's umbrellas by the door and Harry grabs one on his way out because it was raining earlier and inside the studio it's impossible to tell whether the storm is still raging or if it's just his mood. 

By the time he gets outside, he finds that everything is wet and shiny and grey, so he heads around the corner to the park. They're not in central London, but there's still news agents on the corner, and Harry ducks his head and scrunches up his shoulders to hide from today's headline about him: 

_Xed Out: Former X Factor rising star cuts ties with show that made him famous_

Harry really hates the word _famous_. 

There's pictures of him with Aimee at an event from two nights ago talking to Sam Smith, fresh off his Oscar win. The words have burned into his brain. _Ambitious. Big ego. Cut ties_. They've brought in the original asinine article, too. And he'd had no time to talk through it with anyone before he'd had to get dressed and run for the studio this afternoon so that Chloe wouldn't be cross for half the day. 

_"He's even cut Grimmy out," our source tells us. "His new manager's a close friend of Nick's, but Harry won't go anywhere near him. Not now that he's making his own way to stardom."_

The worst thing is that it's almost true. He hasn't seen Nick since the London show, more than a month ago now. Instead, he's spending his evenings playing gigs in various clubs and pubs, or with Aimee and Ian at home. Or sometimes Niall and the new band he's cobbled together for Harry will go out on their nights off. He plays with Gemma's cat when he's bored until she kicks him out to have some time alone with her new boyfriend. 

He just — hasn't seen Nick. it's fine, Nick's busy and Harry understands, especially these days, but it's not living up to Harry's fantasy of being a musician in London and being friends with Nick at the same time. 

The walk isn't doing any good when Harry keeps seeing his face plastered all over _The_ fucking _Sun_ on every corner, so he turns back for the studio to get his things. He'll probably just go home and sit on Aimee's sofa with the bottle of wine he'd bought the other day. But when he gets back to the studio Aimee is climbing out of a car. 

"Perfect timing, Styles," she says, tense smile on her face. "Chloe called me. You're done, and we're going for a drink." 

"But—" 

"Don't question me, I'm older and I know what I'm doing." 

On the way, Harry keeps tapping his leg, full of nervous energy, worry picking him apart piece by piece. 

_"_ What happens if I can't get a song written?" 

"Not a question we need to worry about. We'll get you something. If nothing else Jessie Ware owes me a favor." 

"Sure you can't get Sam Smith to do it? He seemed nice." 

"He is. Which is why it's impossible — I've got no dirt on him at all." Aimee pauses. "Also Daisy made me promise to be nice. She likes him." 

Harry pretends to consider this. "Sam Smith or nothing. You like me better than Daisy anyway." 

"Will you bake me vegan brownies whenever I ask?" 

"I used to be a baker," Harry says. "For two summers anyway and I mostly worked the till, but I could probably turn on the oven without setting it on fire." 

"No sale. Also get out, we're here." 

After a short walk, Harry looks up and finds that they're at the same dingy, loud pub they'd been before his first gig. And it's Tuesday, so two for one burgers. 

Aimee takes him through some of the business accounts she's running for him, his new corporation, and a possible publishing company if it turns out he can actually write songs. He makes his way through a strong cocktail or three at the same time, supplied one after another by Aimee. He'll be saving for his eventual retirement, she says. When they drag him off stage, because Aimee is still absolutely sure that audiences everywhere are going to love him. It's making his head spin, and not just because he's on the low edge of drunk already.

It's not until the burger is halfway gone that she brings up today's headlines. 

"It's Simon again, isn't it?" Harry asks around a mouthful of pulled pork. It's too good to stop for something as awful as Simon trying to sabotage his career and drive him to begging to be brought back into the fold. 

"Probably. I didn't dig. But it's _The Sun_ and he's got a fondness for them, usually. Or at least an editor willing to print whatever he wants." Aimee shrugs and takes a sip of her tequila sunrise. "At this point it doesn't matter who sells the story. You really did well on the tour and people love you and want your music." 

Harry had talked about this with his mum when he'd been home the other week after tour ended. He hadn't seen her in the immediate aftermath of the first headlines, but sometimes his feelings aren't _real_ until he talks them through with her. With her help, he'd sorted out the hurt and betrayal and outrage into proper categories. He'd tucked away the part of him that's still mad at Nick for turning him away, but only because it does no good to dwell on it when he's got a task list five pages long most days. It only really helps with the songwriting in the end. 

"So what do I do about it?" 

"What do you want to do?" 

"I suppose I could give them a statement? But like. What do I say? ' _I loved every minute on X Factor and Simon was a father to me_ '?" 

"Not just about the papers. Like, in general. What do you want to do with your life for the next year?" She stares him down until he has to look back at his mostly empty drink. He's good at eye contact but he still feels raw from earlier. He's supposed to be thick-skinned, to never let anything in, but that hasn't happened yet. His mum says it'll come with time. Right now it still just hurts. 

"I want to write music. To sing on stage. Maybe make enough to move out of Alexa's room." He shreds the side of the coaster where the sweat on the glass has made it bubble up. 

When Aimee speaks again, her voice is gentle, coaxing. "Is that it?" 

Harry sucks in a breath and forces his head to tilt back up so he can look her in the eyes. "Nick. I still want Nick. As a friend. Or." 

"Or." She agrees. "Look. I can't promise it'll be easy or that the papers will leave you alone with it. But that's what I'm here for. We'll get you good PR, do whatever we need to." Aimee swirls the last dregs of ice around in his glass. "As your manager, I can make all sorts of promises about how we'll handle the PR and business side of it. Mostly it boils down to me working my very nice ass off to make things good for you. As his friend, I'm going to give you some advice." 

"Okay?" 

"Go for it. Nick's a big believer in asking for what you want, because you'll never get it otherwise. But he's also the type to fall on his sword for people he cares about. And not that we've talked about this, but I'm guessing he's staying away to give you a better chance in the business. It's not total bullshit, but that's not your job, it's mine. So don't let him do it. He'll bleed out and it's a bitch to clean up. I don't want to do it again." 

Nick tells all sorts of stories about friends waking him up or keeping him from going to bed, but Harry wants a real evening where he gets more than a few minutes between Nick pretending to go to bed early and watching at least two episodes of the Simpsons before he sleeps. 

"Bit late for it tonight," he says. "Also, wouldn't it be rude if I abandoned you to go try to talk my way into some famous DJ’s bed?" 

"Ian might have an issue with it if he still worked directly with Nick, but only because Nick would be on the radio in the morning. Good thing for you that isn't a problem." 

"Think I'll go tomorrow," Harry says. "Bring a bottle of wine and some chinese takeaway or sommat." 

"He likes crispy pork belly. Take a double order and he's all yours." 

~*~

"What on earth is wrong with you _today_?" Chloe asks, exasperated. Instead of sulking this time, he's made of rubber and can't stop moving. He's better than he was yesterday, more focused. It just isn't on songwriting. 

At least they're not working towards a deadline. 

"Sorry," Harry says, fighting to keep the smile off his face. 

"Did you get off last night? Oh god, did you get off with _Aimee?_ The way she came swooped in and picked you up like a fucking knight in armor." Her eyes sparkle and she lets out a wicked laugh and Harry loves her fiercely. 

"Oh god _no_ , she's married. I don't think Ian wants to kill me but he probably could. If he was motivated." 

"Could be both of them, I wouldn't judge." 

Harry's jaw drops. 

"So you didn't get off, but you're going to." It's not a question. 

"Maybe," Harry says, still biting his lip to keep his dimples in check. He's pretty sure he fails spectacularly. 

"Just go, you dickhead. We're not doing anything and you need to shower before you go after her. Him? Whoever the fuck it is. Get laid, come back here in two days with new lyrics." 

Harry has all his things packed up again in less than five minutes. He swoops out the door to the waiting Uber but not before giving her a kiss on the cheek as he goes. "I owe you dinner!" 

"And drinks! Lots of them. Drinks until I fall down." 

"Niall's going to love you," he says, shrugging on his jacket. He flags down a taxi and gives them Aimee's address because yeah, he probably should shower. 

~*~

Harry shuffles his feet while he waits for Nick to answer his door. He probably should have made sure that Nick was home before just turning up with a bag of chinese take-away, but he's still holding out hope that the romantic gesture will be properly appreciated. He's contemplating leaning on the doorbell a bit more when he finally hears Pig's feet on the wood floors, and then Nick telling her to back off, probably holding her collar so she doesn't run into the street. 

There's a few seconds between Nick opening the door and seeing Harry's face and either of them speaking that stretches out impossibly long. It's sweet and weird and thrilling all at once; Harry had gotten over his celebrity crush on Nick somewhere between adding Nick's number to his phone and finally kissing him, but part of him still floats up like a balloon when Nick says hello. 

"What are you doing here, Harry?" 

Harry ignores how tired Nick sounds, and the way he looks up towards the street to see if anyone is pointing their cameras down at his front door. 

"I brought you dinner," Harry says, holding up the bag. "It's crispy pork belly and fried rice. And don't you dare say you're on some weird diet because I still listen to your show and know you went out at the weekend for McDonald's." 

"I —" 

"Also, I thought we could talk?" Harry bites his lip. "Can I come in?" 

"If this is about the thing yesterday, you know I know it's complete rubbish." Nick says, not moving out of the way. 

"It's not about yesterday. Well it is, but not just that. Please, Nick? The food's going cold and un-crispy. No one wants soggy pork." 

Harry can see when Nick relents. He slumps a bit from where he'd been puffed up and steps back, holding Pig out of the way so that Harry can step through. He doesn't wait for an invitation to move through the narrow hallway into the living room and then the kitchen where he pulls down plates and silverware and glasses. He's halfway through opening up all the various containers when he notices the block of cheese sat on the cutting board. 

"Were you going to have cheese for your tea?" 

Nick shrugs where he's leaning against the kitchen door. "Didn't have anything in and no one was coming over. Seemed reasonable until you showed up with my favorite Chinese." 

"You are completely ridiculous." He serves up plates for the two of them: Broccoli beef for him, crispy pork belly for Nick, rice and egg rolls split between them. "Table or sofa?" 

"Sofa, it's just the two of us," Nick says, looking around as if someone is about to materialize out of the shadows at any minute. 

They eat without speaking for a few minutes, Pig between them with her nose very close to Nick's plate, and Annie's show on the radio, but since Nick can't abide silence very long, he speaks first. 

"How have you been?" 

"Fine. Working on an EP. Aimee says she's got a few of her A&R friends interested. Now I just have to deliver something other than a Fleetwood Mac cover." Harry takes a bite. "But Chloe's brilliant, even when I'm useless, so we'll get something out there." 

"I'm claiming the first exclusive play and interview now," Nick says. "Just so you know. And no excuses about how it's too early." 

Harry grins, because this is what he wants: dinner for two with Nick whenever he can get it. "Wouldn't dream of it." Harry had planned for this part after dinner, and they've only just started, but he's got an opening and he's not going to throw away his shot. "I'll probably just come in with you anyway. Then sleep on the floor like Fiona after the Brits." 

He stares at his plate instead of looking at Nick, freezing in place while he waits to see if he'll be written off as a joke or taken seriously. 

"Will you now?" 

Nick doesn't sound angry or cross or even annoyed, so Harry looks at him, and finds a question on his face. 

He bites his lip before speaking, answering as honestly as possible. "Yeah, I think I would." 

Nick's whole face falls. "Harry —" 

"Don't, Nick. Don't give me the speech I know you want to." Harry sets down his plate on the ottoman between the sofas. Pig can have his broccoli, he doesn't care. "I know there was the thing yesterday, but. I can't just wait it out because it's not going away. I want this. I want you, and fuck all of them." 

Nick sets his plate down too, and turns to face Harry. His face is set, sad. "I'm not saying I don't like you, or don't want you around as a friend. But I've been doing this for a long time. I know how it works. I'm just an aging DJ whose numbers keep slipping. I don't want to hold you back." 

"Are you my manager?" Harry asks, because he's practised this conversation at least twenty times since last night. "Because I'm pretty sure your name isn't Aimee. Your tits just aren't as good." 

"No?" 

"I talked it over with her last night, after. All those shitty headlines. And we decided something: she's my manager, so she'll handle my image. Find a PR team, do what needs to be done. I just want you to be my boyfriend." Harry turns, bringing his leg up onto the sofa so he can rest his chin there. "You don't have to say yes just because I'm asking. But I like you, Nick. And I want to go out with you. And we can handle whatever that means for my career. And yours." 

"Let me think about it. I'm not saying no. Just that there's a lot to think about. It's not yes or no. Not yet." Nick is turning away from him to sit properly on the sofa again. 

"Can I at least stay and finish my food?" Harry asks, quiet. He's run off a cliff and he's hanging in the air, unsure whether Nick's going to rescue him or if he's going to hit the ground and shatter. 

"Yeah, of course," Nick says, reaching for his plate. He switches out the radio for telly, and Harry picks up his food too. He's not really hungry anymore, so he just sort of pushes it around as it grows colder and keeps sneaking glances back at Nick. 

~*~

They make it through an episode of Pointless and half of DIY SOS without commenting on anything more than the show on screen. Harry keeps sneaking glances to the side, trying not to be too obvious about it. Though the way he shifted around after getting rid of his plate probably gave it away, even if Nick's ignoring it. 

Finally, Nick lets out a long sigh. "Oh, just come here." 

Harry can't hide his smile as he scoots across the sofa to where he's invited into Nick's arms. Nick touches his dimple, then his hair, then his lip. 

"I have no idea if this will be good for either of us," he says, face going soft. 

"Neither do I," Harry says, and leans in to kiss him. 

Nick's mouth is as soft as it was before, and he opens up to Harry immediately. His hand threads into Harry's hair to cup the back of his skull and move him into a more perfect position. Harry's got a hand on Nick's chest, trying to feel his heartbeat through a jumper and a tshirt and Nick's ribcage. 

They can't stay that way forever, though. Sitting side by side isn't the greatest thing for his neck or back, so Harry breaks away first. He takes Nick's hand and leans back to stretch out lengthwise, pulling until Nick stretches out on top of him and goes back to what they were doing. Harry spreads his legs as much as he can with the back of the sofa in the way, and he's rewarded with Nick settling in more firmly on top of him and biting his neck just under the hinge of his jaw. 

Harry hadn't planned for sex. Honestly. He'd expected to get shut down and shown the door, even as he'd hoped to get to kiss Nick again. Now, he's got Nick pressing him into the cushions and sucking bruises into his neck. 

He takes a chance and tucks his fingers up under Nick's shirt to find his hip, the line between his pants and his skin and Nick shivers with his whole body when Harry finds a sensitive spot just to the right of his spine. 

"You're here," Nick says, propping himself up on his elbows. "In my flat. Doesn't Aimee have you attending every event between now and Glasto?" 

"Almost every event," Harry says. "And she's taking me to Glasto, too. Can I stay in your tent?" 

"Are you —" 

Harry sighs as dramatically as he can with Nick on his chest. "We've just gone through this." He points at Nick. "Boyfriend." He moves his hand vaguely somewhere else. "Manager." 

"I was going to ask if you are able to keep quiet," Nick says. He moves back to sit on his heels between Harry's spread legs, and moves one of his stupid-big hands to cover Harry's dick. "When I do this." 

Harry isn't. At all. 

~*~

"Well," Harry says. Nick's still a heavy weight on top of him, breathing long and slow into his neck. "I swear I didn't come here for sex." 

He shifts a little bit, feeling his soft, sensitive cock scrape against the fly of his jeans and winces. He'd maybe wanted to kiss Nick a bit (a lot) after having dinner and talking things through, but then Nick had got his hands down Harry's pants and it was over pretty quickly after that. 

Nick stretches out for his phone where it's fallen out to the floor. "Fuck, I need to be asleep now." 

Harry grabs for Nick's arse, which isn't quite within easy reach, the way they're lying. He misses but catches the bottom of Nick's shirt instead, so it works anyway. "Fuck. Yes." 

Nick bites him, teeth worrying over the same spot over again. It's going to show in the morning. And probably for several days after, but he doesn't care. 

"Fine. Go to bed, I'll clean up dinner and take Pig out." He drags Nick's head up so he can kiss him squarely on the lips. It takes another few minutes before Nick sits back and rolls off him, tucking his soft dick back into his pants, leaving his jeans undone. Harry does the same before he gets his feet under him to stand. 

All their take-away containers are shoved together on the tray on the coffee table between the sofas, along with their dirty plates and chopsticks and drinks. 

Harry can feel Nick's gaze on him as he makes sure nothing's going to topple off the tray when he picks it up to carry into the kitchen. "Go on, I've got this," he tells Nick. 

Nick leans in for another kiss. "Don't let Pig ruin my rugs." 

Pig barks hearing her name, restless because no one's paid her any attention for far too long. When Nick finally turns away to go get ready for bed, Harry turns his attention to the kitchen. There's really not much to be done, just making sure the leftovers are boxed up properly and the dishes rinsed before sticking them in the dishwasher. 

He does spend some time shivering outside waiting for Pig to wee in the garden, but finally that's done, too, and then he can go join Nick in bed. 

Nick's not actually asleep when Harry finishes cleaning his teeth and slides under the covers, even though he's doing a good impression of being so. The stiff line of his back when Harry cuddles up to him gives him away, as does the huff of breath he releases when Harry kisses his neck, scraping his teeth over skin to pay Nick back for the massive bite he's got now. 

"I've got guests in tomorrow," Nick whines, "the cameras will be on." 

Harry just hums, and Nick doesn't pull away, and that's the end of the argument. 

~*~

It's not the first time Harry's slept over at Nick's, but it is the first time he actually tries to get up with Nick's punishingly early alarm. He takes Pig out while Nick showers, and makes smoothies for both of them out of the meager contents of Nick's fruit bowl and the half carton of cold pressed juice he finds in the fridge. 

"What?" is all Nick says when he comes out of the bedroom, dragging Pig, who had burrowed back into the duvet as soon as she was allowed back inside. 

"She's been out already," Harry says. "Let her sleep." 

"You should be asleep," Nick says. 

Harry seeks out the bite he'd left on Nick's neck, satisfied that it's still showing above the collar of the jacket he's shrugged on even inside. "I'm coming with you. I said I would last night." 

Nick's brow furrows as he tries to remember. "That was hypothetical. For when you're a big popstar with an official number one." 

"Could be now, too." Harry hands over the smoothie. "Unless you don't want me there for some reason." He shifts on his feet and takes a drink of the smoothie which has turned out okay despite the lack of choice for ingredients. 

"No, of course you can come, my friends come in all the time if there's something happening." Nick takes a sip of the smoothie and then makes a face at it. "Just usually not from the beginning of the show. They all have a tendency to turn up at half nine and pretend they're being supportive." 

"I'm not them," Harry says, stepping closer. "I'm your boyfriend. If you let me be." 

"We discussed this last night," Nick throws back. "I do remember that I am definitely not your manager." 

"No," Harry agrees, taking the smoothie and setting it on the counter so that he can press closer to Nick. "You definitely are not." 

After a minute, Nick pushes him away. "Now that we're agreed, go take a shower. You smell like sex." 

~*~

Harry's been in to Nick's studio before, but not for the start of the show. He's used to Radio 1 being stuffed full of people during the day - producers and DJs and assistants and researchers and various other staff running around and meeting guests, writing scripts and chatting. It's a bit eerie to walk the empty hallways, even knowing they'll be full within a few hours. There's not much for him to do, so he just follows Nick around for the pre-show meeting, then into Adele's studio where she does a rather comical double-take at him. 

"I see you had a good night, Grimmy," she says instead of asking. She keeps sneaking glances at Harry who's stood in the back of the studio right where Nick had placed him before the link. 

"Just had a quiet night at home," Nick says. "My friend brought me Chinese take-away, and I went to be early. I was going to have cheese for my tea before they stopped by."

"Sounds like a good friend," Adele touches her neck which isn't going to be visible to anyone, given that they're on the radio, but Nick's hand flies to his own neck, and Harry can't help the smug grin on his face. "Why were you going to have cheese for tea?" 

"I slept all weekend and never did a big shop. I just ran out of food." 

"Just slept?" Adele sounds skeptical.

"I don't know why everyone still thinks I go out all the time." 

Harry's heard this speech before, and he suspects that Nick is rather tired of giving it, but Adele's giving him a look, and Nick can't actually say anything until they're not live on air. 

Well, he could, but they haven't discussed any of that, since all they'd done is make out and give each other hand jobs on the sofa. Then they'd slept. Harry may be new to all this, but he's not naive, and it's not as simple as he's made it out to be last night. There will have to be a strategy to deal with both their images, but for now they can make out that they're just friends to the public, and fuck anyone who tries to sell them out for a new kitchen. 

"All right!" Adele throws her hands up in the air. "Nick Grimshaw is not a party animal." 

"You know who is, though? Tina Daheley. More like Tina DaPartyAnimal. Did you see her on my Snapchat last week? Knows how to party, she does." 

"You have got to invite me out on these things," Adele says. "I'm starting to get jealous that I only ever see it on your Instagram. But nevermind that for now, tell me what's on the show today." 

Harry tunes out the talk since he doesn't much care what's happening on the show so long as he gets to stay there and be with Nick all day. Of course he falls asleep on the bench at the back of the studio about two minutes in, just after the first link, and only wakes up when Nick comes to shake him awake while Tina's talking. 

"Want to make yourself useful and go get us coffees?" Nick asks, gently. "Or you can take my keys and go home and sleep if you like. Pig would love the company." 

"M'staying," Harry yawns. "Give me your orders for coffee. Do I need to do anything special to get back in?" 

"Don't lose the visitors badge," Nick says. He reaches into his pocket to hand over some money but Harry waves him off, he _can_ treat his boyfriend's team at work to a coffee, and then goes to use the toilet while Nick collects everyone's orders. 

He has to wait out the entertainment news when he gets back, but Nick sends him on his way with a kiss, so it's worth it in the end. 

~*~

When the show ends and Clara takes over, Harry slides down into one of the booths to wait for Nick to finish whatever post-show meetings he has to get through, which turns out to be not too many things, and they're walking out of the building before ten forty-five. 

Harry can't stop yawning, and Nick laughs at him. "Come on, you can go back to sleep while I walk Pig. And when am I handing you back to Aimee?" 

"I'm walking Pig with you," Harry says. "And then we're both going back to bed." 

"I hate napping," Nick says. 

Harry just looks at him until he sees an answering smile on Nick's face. Sometimes he thinks Nick likes complaining more than he dislikes any of the things he complains about. Nick takes him out the back entrance to the building, where there's not fans or photographers waiting for whoever else is coming in today, (the 1975, Harry thinks Clara had said? He'd not been paying too much attention to anything other than the sound of Nick's voice), and it's easy to flag down a taxi and climb inside, even though they're not on the main street anymore. 

Pig is excited to see them again, and although Harry hasn't walked with them enough to tell for sure, he's fairly certain that the walk is cut short in the end, and Nick apologizes to Pig for turning them back early. Harry can take her on a longer walk later, or at the weekend, but right now he's too eager to get Nick back in bed, and not just to sleep, even though he could use a real nap. 

He sits on the edge of the bed while Nick settles Pig with a bone to gnaw on and closes the living room doors behind him, leaving them alone in the bedroom. He's getting half hard already, just waiting for Nick to get his hands on him again. Last night had been just a taste; a delicious one, but not nearly enough of what Harry wants, which is to be naked, in bed, with Nick. He wants to get his mouth on more than just Nick's neck. 

Nick sits down next to him on the bed. "Hiya." 

Harry snorts out a laugh. "Hello. Fancy having sex with me?" he lies back on the bed and tugs at Nick's arm until he does the same. 

"Think I'll just sleep," Nick says, settling onto the duvet. "Love a nap, me." 

"Liar," Harry says. He flips onto his side and slings a leg over Nick's thighs. 

"You caught me." 

"Now I get to decide what to do with you." Harry leans down to kiss Nick, content for a minute or two to get reacquainted with Nick's lips and the way he moves his whole body into the kiss. Once he's happy with that, he sneaks a hand up under Nick's shirt and jumper, catching skin and warmth with his fingers and Nick's groan with his mouth. He tugs on the shirt. "We should probably get rid of these." 

They don't move. Harry is rapidly going from half-hard to fully hard, and nearly desperately needs to get out of his jeans, so he pushes Nick back down into the covers and pries Nick's hands off his back. "Keep those to yourself for two minutes please, or I'll get distracted again." 

In his eagerness to get his jeans off he nearly forgets to get his boots off first, which he has to sit down again to do. Nick reaches over to play with his now bare back while he unzips the boots and Harry shivers and his cock jumps. God, he's going to come just from Nick's fingers on his spine, and Nick won't even get to see it. 

"Stop that," he swats Nick's hand away. "I'm trying to concentrate." 

Nick doesn't try to get his hands on Harry again, but the next thing Harry feels as he bends down to get his stupidly tight — why does he wear his jeans so tight? — jeans off his calves is Nick's hot breath, mouth, tongue playing at the base of his spine, and he can't help the groan that escapes. 

It takes Harry another thirty seconds to get completely naked, and by the time he turns around he finds that Nick's done the same thing , and is leaning on his elbows looking too pleased with himself. Harry only gets a few seconds to look his fill before Nick moves, fast, and has him pinned down on the bed, hips pressing down on Harry's own just like they were last night. But better, so much better, because there's nothing between them. It's one thing to know that Nick's into it, but it's a whole other thing to feel that against his hip; the heat and hardness are unmistakeable, and Harry grinds up into it just to feel more. He's rewarded with Nick's mouth on his neck, worrying the same spot he'd spent so much time on last night. 

"Going to need concealer for a month at this rate," Harry says. 

"Just a month?" Nick switches to Harry's collarbone instead. "You realise that's a challenge now." 

Harry grins, even though Nick can't see it. He'll get his own soon enough. 

From his collarbone, Nick moves down his chest and stomach, stopping at random spots to bite and suck and lick. 

Halfway down he stops. "Four nipples. You've actually got four nipples." 

"I know I've mentioned that before," Harry says, hiding a smile in the pillow. "Pretty sure you've seen me shirtless, too. You must have." 

Nick bites at one of the extras, which feels great, but he does have four of them and definite preferences, so he pulls Nick to where he wants him. "Here, please." 

"Is this how you're telling me you're into nipple play?" Nick asks, bringing his fingers into things and rolling one of Harry's perfectly placed nipples between them. Harry twists his hips so that Nick can feel exactly how much he's into it. 

"They're sensitive. Also I do have four." He doesn't tell Nick about the time his ex had spent hours teasing him until he'd come just from that. He wants Nick to figure that one out on his own. Just. Maybe not tonight, because he's got other plans. 

There's something nice about being able to lie back and go at someone else's pace. Not knowing what's about to come, or what Nick likes to do in bed. Now that Nick's unlocked one of Harry's (not really closely guarded) secrets, the only question is where he's going next. He moves from Harry's chest to his abs to his hips, seeking out all the little pieces of Harry that are craving his touch. Everywhere, really, and Nick's spiderweb hands are perfectly suited to the job. Harry isn't being held down, but he can't move for fear of knocking Nick off the rather delightful path he's on right now. 

Nick's mouth has found the soft skin of Harry's thighs, right up at the crease of his hip, and then finally, _finally_ , he gets his mouth of Harry's dick. 

"Took you long enough," Harry manages to gasp out between breaths. He's been wanting this for years; had spent so many hours in bed listening to Nick talk and wondering what that wide full mouth of his could be capable of. His schoolboy fantasies are nothing compared to the real thing. His hands may as well be a soft breeze compared to the warm wet of Nick taking Harry's cock into his mouth, nearly all the way down his throat. Harry knows he's not small, but there's remarkably little of him left for Nick to wrap his hands around when he looks up at Harry, eyes watery and bright. 

Harry has no idea if Nick's the type to like his hair messed with during sex, but he takes a guess, based on how much Nick plays with it himself day to day and slides his fingers in. He tugs a bit, but Nick flicks his thigh as he pulls off to breathe so Harry lets his fingers relax and instead moves to stroking over Nick's scalp. 

Nick hums in response, mouth still wrapped around Harry's dick and and Harry has to work not to tighten his fist in Nick's hair again. Or thrust up into Nick's mouth more than he already has. He tries to pull Nick off before it's too late, but he just spills into Nick's mouth and goes limp, sinking into the duvet whilst Nick spits into a bin on the side of the bed and comes back to drape himself across Harry's chest. 

"I wanted to wait," Harry said. "I barely got any time with you." 

Nick pinches Harry's already sensitive nipples. "You're young, I believe in you." 

Harry just grins. Actually, now that he's been taken care of the first time, he's got one less distraction in his way to getting his mouth on Nick. "I just don't want you to think this is returning the favor," He says, flipping Nick onto his back and hovering over him. "I've wanted to do this for at least five years." 

The hair on Nick's chest is soft and fuzzy and feels great against Harry's lips as he nuzzles his way down to find Nick's nipples. Nick hums a bit, but it's easy enough to tell that he's not quite as sensitive as Harry is, so Harry moves again. He finds a spot at the edge of Nick's pecs, another to the left of his belly button, one right at the base of his dick. 

Harry's mouth is watering by the time he finally gets to open up and get his mouth on Nick. It's hard to tell if he's the one groaning of if it's Nick as he slides down, mouth slick around the length of him. It's work to get him completely in, Harry's favorite kind. Taking the hint from Harry's failed attempt earlier, Nick grabs for and tugs at Harry's hair, which goes straight to his dick, which is definitely taking an interest again. 

When he finally has to pull off to breathe, his eyes are watery and his chin is a mess, and Nick is looking at him with so much hunger in his eyes that Harry can't maintain the eye contact, and immediately goes back to getting his mouth on Nick's cock. It's easier than seeing his teen (and later) fantasies spread out in front of him, better in solid form than they'd ever been in his dreams. 

Harry pulls out every trick he knows to coax out Nick's orgasm, and it doesn't take long. Nick warns him that it's coming, because he's polite and doesn't want Harry to choke, and Harry pulls back just enough to catch it on his tongue and swallow. It's bitter and warm and all around a fairly unpleasant shot, but he likes being able to do that for his partners, an extra little flounce, a mint on the pillow. When he's done, Nick pulls him up by his hair and Harry goes easily, collapsing next to Nick and pulling him in for a kiss. 

"Was that all right?" he asks, lips grazing against Nick's ask he talks. 

Harry can feel Nick's answering laugh. "Yeah, that was all right, popstar." 

~*~

Nick's morning alarms bang into Harry's very pleasant dreams and leave him groaning into the pillows and reaching over to grab hold of Nick's arm in a feeble attempt to keep him in bed. He can call in sick just this once. 

When he opens his eyes after the noise has gone off, he finds Nick squinting at him, the thick frame of his glasses just barely visible in the soft glow from the nightlight in the ensuite. 

"I've got work, Harold," Nick says. He lays his hand over Harry's which is nice. Then starts gently prying apart his grip, which isn't so nice. Harry lets him, though. "Come shower with me." 

"I'm sleeping." 

Nick chuckles, low and rough. The bed dips and Harry listens to Nick walking around the bed and into the en suite, hears the scrape of the light turning on. "You're not coming in today? The romance dies so quickly." 

Harry opens his eyes to glare at Nick, but has to close them right away because the light is too much and it's too early. "I'll show you romance. At a decent hour." 

Footsteps, then Nick places a gentle kiss on Harry's head before retreating. The bathroom door closes, and the light that was beating against his eyelids disappears. Harry falls asleep to the sound of the shower, and the next time he wakes up he's alone with Pig curled up at his back. 

The clock says that it's ten past nine, so Harry gets up and takes Pig out before ransacking Nick's kitchen in search of breakfast foods. Between searching the cupboards and the fridge, he turns on the radio app on his phone and hears Nick's voice flood the flat. Pig perks up, looking around for him, and Harry sits on the floor petting her for a minute before she loses interest in the phone and goes to curl up in her bed. 

Harry takes a picture and texts it to Nick. 

_Finally awake?_

On the radio, Nick is soliciting songs for the second half of the Nixtape. 

_You wore me out last night_. Harry sends back. 

_Ah, the stamina of youth_ , Nick shoots back, adding a line of aubergines. On air, he fumbles his conversation with Tina, and the blinking dots at the bottom of Harry's text conversation stay that way until Nick hands over to Tina with the news. 

_Some of us still got up for work this morning_. 

Harry's not awake enough to think of a clever reply, so he changes tactics. _Play a song for me?_

_Doesn't work like that. You have to request a song for me to play it._

_Pick something you like_ , Harry says. _Something you think I'll like_. 

There's no text answer back, but Nick's speaking again. "We're gonna do requests now from nine-thirty straight through 'til ten. You're in charge of the Nixtape. We're going to start with a request from a celebrity listener. Harry Styles off X Factor. He's locked in. Good morning, Harold." 

Harry bites his lip to keep from saying _good morning_ back at the radio, where Nick can't actually hear him. The song isn't one Harry is overly familiar with, but when he looks for the title, he can't help but smile. 

_Hold You_. 

_Good choice_ , he texts. _Hurry home. Xx_

~*~

By the time Nick walks in the door Harry's in bed waiting for him. 

Sort of. He's sitting in Nick's bed with his phone, going through Twitter and drinking a cup of tea with a snoring Pig curled up at his side. It's not exactly naked and hard and waiting like something out of a porn film, but the slow smile that lights up Nick's face when he sees them is worth it. 

Nick drops his bag inside the bedroom door and shucks his boots at the side of the bed before climbing in and kicking Pig to the floor. 

"Hiya, Harry Styles," Nick says. Harry puts his phone down and lets Nick draw him in for a slow, leisurely kiss. 

Harry scoots down in the bed, and pulls Nick with him the best he can, but they end up with a lumpy pile of duvet between them. Harry doesn't mind, just pulls Nick closer on top of him, duvet lump and all. 

"Hello, Nick Grimshaw." 

 

 

 

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> I argued a lot with myself, especially given the atmosphere in fandom the last two months, over whether or not I really wanted to tell this story in this way. Ultimately I decided to keep what I had written, because the story needs a villain, and Simon is really conveniently situated to be that villain. 
> 
> In this fic, he is manipulative and plays dirty. That includes using the tabloids to get what he wants, and lying his arse off about it to achieve the same results. Part of that is selling the public (and papers) an image of Harry with a girlfriend that he isn't actually dating, with dubious consent from both parties involved. (they know what they're agreeing to, but not the full story, because as I said, Simon's a manipulative bastard.) 
> 
> ~*~ 
> 
> If you liked this, come follow me on [Tumblr](http://glitterbootsandyellowshorts.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/hllangel).


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